Face the Odds
by Heartlocket1004
Summary: Sherlock has returned safely back to London soil, or so he and his friends think. But the veil is dropping and the shadows of their pasts are closing in like sharks to their flailing prey. Can Sherlock, and those he cares about, evade 'Sumatra? And can Sherlock rise to face the greatest challenge of his life: being a father? Sequel to 'Despite the Odds' and 'Tempting the Odds'.
1. Return Again

*A/N I do not own Sherlock or its characters. I only own my own OCs. Warning, contains spoilers for the show. Also, please watch the episodes first before reading!

"What you're about to see is classified beyond top secret." Mycroft stated. "Is that quite clear?"

He looked around at the other five occupants in the conference room, focusing on the small figure in the far corner as he ordered: "Don't minute any of this."

Lady Smallwood's old secretary dropped her reading glasses back down, lowering her pen and notebook with her spectacles, as Mycroft addressed the two people across from him, sitting at the conference table: "Once beyond these walls, you must never speak of it."

Lady Smallwood and Sir Edwin, the only two other parliamentary officials attending the meeting, frowned at the stilled images Mycroft was showing them on the screen. It was a montage of security footages, all showing various angles of Sherlock and Magnussen in the latter's final moments, and the tension in the room could be cut with a blunt knife… except around Sherlock.

The detective himself sat in an armchair before the conference table, fiddling on his phone, as Mycroft continued: "A D notice has been slapped on the entire incident. Only those within this room, code names Antarctica, Langdale, Victor, Porlock and Love, will ever know the whole truth."

Marie glanced at Sherlock from her seat beside him, before rolling her eyes while Mycroft continued: "As far as everyone else is concerned, going to the Prime Minister and way beyond, Charles Augustus- Are you tweeting?!"

Mycroft had shifted slightly from where he'd been standing facing the conference table, and finally noticed his brother's actions.

"No." Sherlock said quickly, hiding his phone, and Marie sighed as Mycroft snapped: "Well, that's what it looks like."

"Of course I'm not tweeting. Why would I be tweeting?" Sherlock asked, but his face gave away his guilt as he suppressed a faintly amused expression and Mycroft narrowed his eyes.

"Give me that!" Mycroft snapped, lunging forward to snatch his brother's phone from him, and Sherlock protested: "What? No!"

The pair struggled as Mycroft pulled at Sherlock's phone while the younger man tried to hold on as he hissed: "What are you doing?! Get off!"

"Give it here!" Mycroft snapped, finally managing to wrench the phone away.

Marie lifted her eyes to the ceiling, as though asking for patience, while Sherlock sulked and Mycroft read in disbelief: "'Back on terra firma'."

"Don't read them out." Sherlock sighed, but Mycroft ignored him as he continued: "'Free as a bird'."

"God, you're such a spoilsport." Sherlock muttered.

"Could you two please grow up?" Marie sighed, and Sherlock whined: "He started it!"

"Will you take this matter seriously, Sherlock?" Mycroft snapped.

"I am taking it seriously! What makes you think I'm not taking it seriously?" Sherlock argued, and Mycroft quoted mockingly: '"#OhWhatABeautifulMorning'."

"Look," Sherlock argued, "not so long ago I was on a mission that meant certain death, my death! And now I'm back, with my lovely wife," he winked at Marie who simply raised a brow at him, "in a nice warm office," he looked around the room, "with my big brother and- Are those ginger nuts?"

He suddenly broke off, his face lighting up as he saw the plate of cookies sitting in the middle of the conference table.

"Oh, God..." Mycroft sighed, while Sherlock stood up and strode over, proclaiming: "Love ginger nuts."

He reached forward and grabbed a whole handful right off the plate, and Lady Smallwood noted irritably: "Our doctor said you were clean."

"I am. Utterly." Sherlock answered as he turned back towards his seat. "No need for stimulants now, remember? I have work to do. Marie, would you, or the baby, or maybe both, like one?"

She shook her head, looking faintly amused as Sherlock shrugged and bit into one of the biscuits, facing his brother with a mocking smile as Mycroft pursed his lips angrily.

"You're high as a kite!" Sir Edwin stated incredulously, and Sherlock replied: "Natural high, I assure you. Totally natural."

Mycroft looked like he was forcing himself to count to ten as Sherlock continued: "I'm just..." he suddenly broke out in a musical voice: "'glad to be alive'!"

Marie snorted, though she tried to hide it in a cough, while Sherlock smirked at the room as the two parliament officials stared at him, and he asked: "What shall we do next? What's your name?"

He suddenly pointed at Lady Smallwood's secretary, sitting politely in the corner, and the woman answered in surprise: "Vivian."

"What would you do, Vivian?" Sherlock asked, and Marie warned quietly as she saw Lady Smallwood's slightly irritated expression: "Sherlock."

"Pardon?" Vivian asked blankly.

"Well, it's a lovely day." Sherlock stated, ignoring Marie's warning. "Go for a stroll? Make a paper aeroplane? Have an ice lolly?"

He bit into another biscuit, and Vivian shrugged: "Ice lolly, I suppose."

"Ice lolly it is!" Sherlock said enthusiastically, while Mycroft stood testily. "What's your favourite?"

"Well, really, I shouldn't…" Vivian hesitated, but Sherlock encouraged: "Go on."

"Do they still do Mivvis?" the fragile-looking woman asked at last, perking up hopefully, and Lady Smallwood finally interrupted sharply: "Mr. Holmes."

"Yes?" Both Sherlock and Mycroft answered, before the latter looked at his brother and grimaced irritably.

"We do need to get on." Lady Smallwood just said pointedly, and Mycroft said immediately: "Yes, of course."

"Sherlock, you should probably sit back down." Marie added wisely.

Sherlock obliged easily, though he paused to retrieve his phone from his brother. He waved it smugly as he sat back down, and Marie rolled her eyes again at his childishness while Mycroft just gave him a sour look as he started the security clips.

On screen, Sherlock shouted over the whirring of helicopter blades: " _Do your research. I'm not a hero. I'm a high-functioning sociopath."_

A gunshot sounded and Magnussen fell as Sherlock faced the approaching Secret Service agents, his gun dropping from his hands seemingly harmlessly as Magnussen fell, apparently shot by some mysterious person.

Marie pursed her lips as she watched the various altered clips, showing Magnussen falling from a gunshot to the head and Sherlock's apparent innocence.

"I see." Sherlock murmured between bites of his biscuits. "Who is supposed to have shot him, then?"

"Some over-eager squaddie with an itchy trigger finger, that's who." Sir Edwin replied shortly, and Marie glanced over at Sherlock as he muttered: "That's not what happened at all."

"It is now." Mycroft stated flatly.

"Remarkable." Lady Smallwood commented. "How did you do it?"

"We have some very talented people working here." Sir Edwin answered, a tad smugly. "If James Moriarty can hack every TV screen in the land, rest assured we have the tech to doctor a bit of security footage."

He glanced at Marie very briefly, and Lady Smallwood also looked at the calm woman seated across from her.

Marie simply looked back coolly, showing no emotion, while Sir Edwin continued: "That is now the official version, the version anyone we want to will see."

"No need to go to the trouble of getting some sort of official pardon." Lady Smallwood said. "You're off the hook, Mr. Holmes. You're home and dry."

"OK, cheers." Sherlock said easily, getting to his feet and brushing crumbs off his suit. "Let's go, Marie."

She just gave him a look while Lady Smallwood interjected sharply: "Obviously, there's unfinished business. Moriarty."

"I told you," Sherlock mumbled around his last biscuit as he shrugged on his coat. "Moriarty's dead. Marie will back me up."

Sir Edwin glanced at said woman, while Lady Smallwood said with a raised brow: "You say he filmed that video message before he died."

"Yes." Sherlock replied, frowning as he wondered what the problem was.

"You also say," Lady Smallwood said skeptically, "you know what he's going to do next. What does that mean?"

"Perhaps that's all there is to it." Sir Edwin suggested. "Perhaps he was just trying to frighten you."

"No, no, he would never be that disappointing." Sherlock murmured, and Marie warned: "Sherlock."

He didn't hear her, too absorbed in his thoughts as he said thoughtfully: "He's planned something, something long-term. Something that would take effect if he never made it off that rooftop alive. Posthumous revenge. No, better than that - posthumous game."

"Sherlock." Marie said sharply, and he looked at her in surprise.

"Sorry, was I doing it again?" He asked, and she nodded.

"We brought you back to deal with this." Lady Smallwood said sternly. "What are you going to do?"

"Wait." Sherlock replied shortly as he moved to stand beside Marie's chair.

" _Wait_?" Lady Smallwood repeated incredulously, and Sherlock scoffed as he held out his hand: "Of course wait. I'm the target, targets wait."

Marie took Sherlock's hand, letting him help her up, and Sherlock helped her into her coat as he told Lady Smallwood: "Look, whatever's coming, whatever he's lined up, I'll know when it begins."

He held out his arm for Marie, and she took his elbow through her as he led them out of the office while he called over his shoulder: "I always know when the game is on. Do you know why?"

"Why?" Lady Smallwood asked, looking like she was barely keeping her annoyance at Sherlock in check, and Sherlock looked back as Marie glanced back over her shoulder.

"Because I love it." Sherlock stated, and then he pulled open the door and the pair walked out.

"You know I don't." Marie commented as they walked through the building, heading for the ground floor, and Sherlock snorted: "Yes, you do."

"All right, I do." Marie sighed. "But not when it gets you into trouble."

"I'll try to stay out of it, then." Sherlock answered. "Now, we should probably get you back home so you can rest."

He glanced t her pointedly as he added: "You really should have just gone home, never mind my brother."

"I did it for you, mostly." She shrugged. "Besides, working on those tapes didn't take long at all, not with the government's technology and your brother's permission."

"Might have affected the baby." Sherlock shrugged, and Marie pointed out: "If you were worried about that, you shouldn't have overdosed."

"It was necessary." Sherlock answered, and Marie replied: "It really wasn't."

"It was to me." Sherlock grumbled, and Marie answered: "I know, but you know I don't really like it when you use drugs as your method of solving unsolvable problems."

"I do know." Sherlock sighed. "But it really was necessary for me. I _need_ to make sure you're safe."

"You know, it was that mentality that almost got you exiled." Marie pointed out. "And if it wasn't for the baby, I would go with you - you're not the only one who's willing to go to extremes to keep those you love safe, you know."

"I do know." Sherlock repeated softly. "That's why I made sure you and Mary couldn't follow John and I to Magnussen's place – it wasn't safe for you to go there."

"Which is why I divorced you in your vision." Marie said dryly, and Sherlock frowned.

"Suddenly I'm thinking it wasn't the best idea to tell you about what happened in my experiment." He muttered, and Marie answered lightly as they walked out the doors: "I still dislike the fact that I was called 'Rose-Marie' in your mind."

"What was wrong with it? 'Rose' after Rosanne and 'Marie' because, well, that's your name." Sherlock pointed out, and Marie returned: "Seriously? Rose?"

"It seemed very fitting." Sherlock muttered. "Rose, as in Briar Rose from Grimm's Fairy Tales? Trapped for years-"

"-Until she's saved by a kiss from her prince." Marie deadpanned. "Is that what you think of yourself as now?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Sherlock rolled his eyes as Mycroft's car drove up before them. "I dislike princes, and all that romantic folly."

"Yes, you wanted to be a pirate." Marie deadpanned. "And now, you want to be a dragon-slayer."

Sherlock scowled at her while she gave him an angelic smile, feigning innocence.

"I do not." He muttered, and Marie chuckled.

"Oh, Sherlock. You can't lie to me." She sighed as they climbed into the car. "I know what and how you think, and I don't wish to stop you, but…"

She trailed off with a sigh, and Sherlock pursed his lips. He knew exactly what she was talking about.

"Soon, it won't just be the two of us." Marie murmured, gesturing to her stomach.

"How could I forget?" Sherlock answered as he looked at the bump there with a mixture of fondness and apprehension.

Marie coaxed his face back up to meet his eyes once more as she said seriously: "I don't expect you to change what you do, because I know what solving crimes means to you. But I do want our child to know their father."

Sherlock's eyes became conflicted, and Marie caressed his cheek as she murmured: "So, please. Just keep that in mind before you put your life on the line next time, okay?"

"I, I can't promise to do better." Sherlock murmured truthfully. "But, I do promise I'll try."

"I know. And that's what I'm asking." Marie murmured, leaning in to tuck her head on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Thank you, Sherlock." Marie murmured after a moment, and he glanced at her again.

"For what?" He asked, puzzled, and she replied: "For being here. For coming back."

"Well, I think that was a little beyond me." Sherlock noted, and Marie shrugged as she answered: "I'm still glad you're back."

Sherlock softened, and as they drew up to Baker Street once more, he kissed her head and murmured: "I am, too."

* * *

 _Sherlock Narration_

'There was once a merchant, in the famous market at Baghdad. One day he saw a stranger looking at him in surprise… and he knew that the stranger was Death.

Pale and trembling, the merchant fled the marketplace and made his way many, many miles, to the city of Samarra. For there he was sure Death could not find him.

But when, at last, he came to Samarra, the merchant saw, waiting for him, the grim figure of Death.

"Very well." Said the merchant. "I give in. I am yours… But tell me, why did you look surprised when you saw me this morning in Baghdad?"

"Because," said Death, "I had an appointment with you tonight... in Samarra."'

* * *

Sherlock plunged the knife into the stack of letters on the mantelpiece, muttering irritably: "If this gets any better, I'm going to get two knives."

"Pays to advertise." John answered absently, busy typing his latest blog entry, and Sherlock huffed as he settled himself into his armchair, pulling out his phone.

"So, what about Moriarty, then?" Mary asked as she rubbed her stomach while holding her back with a wince while settling into a chair by the table.

"Oh, I have a plan." Sherlock replied easily as he continued to Tweet away on his phone. "I'm going to monitor the underworld, every quiver of the web will tell me when the spider makes his move."

John paused in his own typing, and he said bluntly: "So, basically, your plan is just to sit there solving crimes like you always do?"

"Yup." Marie replied from her seat on John's armchair, also rubbing her stomach with a wince, and Sherlock added brightly: "Awesome, isn't it?"

*A/N And we're back! The new season has brought laughter and tears, but it's also motivated me to write out the sequel to my stories. And again, please watch the episodes first – because we love the show! – before reading, but otherwise I'm glad to be back and to share this with all my readers once more! As always, thank you for reading!


	2. Spiegel

The following weeks continued as normal… almost. Sherlock continued to take cases in between looking after Marie as her stomach grew larger and larger and her emotional swings fluctuated at increasingly distant ends of the spectrum.

 ** _The Case of the Dusty Death_**

"He drowned, Mr. Holmes." The lady stated as Sherlock paced around while on his phone. "That's what we thought. But when they opened up his lungs..."

"Yes?" Mary asked intently from where she sat beside John, and the lady said in a hushed voice: "Sand."

"Superficial." Sherlock huffed, and then turned back to his phone as it whistled with a new message, while Marie sighed from her seat on his chair.

 ** _Another time_**

"Marie, I really wouldn't recommend eating that." Sherlock informed Marie as she sat digging into the tub of ice cream. "Or, well, Mrs. Hudson said I shouldn't let you eat that."

"Why not?" Marie demanded, and Sherlock shrugged: "It's supposedly not healthy."

"You think I'm fat?" Marie asked sharply, and Sherlock paused before he answered: "That's not what I was going for."

"You paused." Marie pointed out, and Sherlock sighed: "That's not-"

"So you _do_ think I'm fat?" She retorted, and Sherlock demanded: "How did you even come to that conclusion?"

 ** _The Case of the Wrong Thumb_**

Sherlock examined the thumb his latest client had dropped off, and he called: "Come back! It's the wrong thumb."

He looked up, just as the front door slammed downstairs.

"Where'd he go?" Sherlock demanded, and Marie shrugged as she walked in with a cup of tea.

"I don't know, maybe he left after you made that deduction about his girlfriend?" Marie teased as she sat down beside Sherlock.

"It was perfectly obvious." Sherlock scoffed, and Marie chuckled: "Maybe for you."

"And you." Sherlock pointed out, and Marie grinned at him.

 ** _A different time_**

"Sherlock, don't forget we have an appointment with the obstetrician." Marie reminded him. "This Friday; we haven't been once since I confirmed my pregnancy."

"Do we have to?" He groaned, and Marie just gave him a look.

"Yes."

 ** _The Case of the Duplicate Man_**

John stood staring down at the photos of Dennis Parkinson, the array showing the murdered man in two different places at the same time, even managing to get murdered in on of them.

"Sherlock-" John began, but Sherlock cut him off, not even looking up from his phone as he said flatly: "It's never twins."

 ** _Friday_**

"I can't believe you forgot." John scolded Sherlock, who winced.

They'd burst into the hospital after Sherlock remembered belatedly about the appointment. They'd discovered the appointment had just ended, and Marie and Mary – who had come as moral support – would be out in a few minutes, and John was using that time to lecture Sherlock.

"Sherlock, this is your wife and kid!" John argued, and Sherlock muttered: "Yes, I know, I said I was sorry!"

"You've got a lot of apologizing ahead of you, if you think you're going to make it out of this one." John warned. "Poor Marie-"

He broke off as the doctor's office door opened, and a very pale Marie walked out, half supported by Mary.

"Marie!" John gasped, while Sherlock strode forward quickly as he asked sharply: "What's wrong?"

"Oh, you took your sweet time." Mary huffed, and Sherlock scowled: "Maybe later, Mary."

Mary folded her arms as Sherlock took Marie in his arms, and she slowly lifted her green eyes to meet his worried brown ones as he questioned: "What is it? What happened? Are you all right?"

"I… " Marie began shakily, as though she was slowly recovering from shock. "We…"

"Marie?" Sherlock almost begged, and Marie whispered: "I'm carrying twins."

Sherlock blinked, Mary glared accusingly, and John couldn't stop the half-surprised, half-amused snort that escaped him.

 ** _The Case of the Circus Torso and the Case of the Canary Trainer_**

"Hopkins, arrest Wilson. Dimmock, look in the lymph nodes." Sherlock ordered shortly to his laptop, while he continued to type away at his phone.

"Wilson?" Hopkins asked, bewildered, on her video chat while Dimmock questioned: "Lymph nodes?"

"Sherlock..." Mary said warningly, but he spoke over her as he snapped impatiently at the video chat window with Dimmock: "Yes, you may have nothing but a limbless torso, but there'll be traces of ink in the lymph nodes under the armpits. If your mystery corpse had tattoos, the signs will be there."

"Bloody hell!" Dimmock gasped, just as Marie walked in with a cup of tea. "Is that a guess?"

"I never guess." Sherlock retorted as he closed the video chat with Dimmock, and Mary said again: "Sherlock..."

"So, he's the killer?" Hopkins asked in your video call. "The canary trainer?"

"Of course he's the killer." Sherlock scoffed, while Marie told Mary with a sigh: "Don't bother – I've tried."

"Didn't see that coming." Hopkins stated, and Sherlock scoffed: "Hm, naturally."

He shut the feed with Hopkins as well, still typing furiously on his phone, and John tried to interject worriedly: "Sherlock, you can't go on spinning plates like this."

Suddenly, Sherlock stopped typing and gasped as he looked up: "That's it! The place was spinning."

 ** _A few days later_**

"Seriously, Sherlock, this is worrying." John told his friend. "I'm worried about you, and quite frankly I'm worried about Marie – you should be taking care of her more right now."

"I am." Sherlock retorted. "I'm making sure she gets everything she needs, stopping her from eating unhealthily – which, quite frankly is an accomplishment coming from me – and giving her massages."

"Yes, and every other minute of the day you're solving cases!" John argued, but Marie interrupted amusedly: "Oh, John, it's fine. He needs it."

" _How_ can this be fine?" John demanded while Mary raised a brow as Sherlock turned away.

Mary examined the detective, before she said flatly: "You're scared of becoming a father, aren't you?"

Marie grinned at her friend, while John's mouth fell open and Sherlock immediately disputed: "No."

"Dear, Lord." John sighed, and Mary snorted.

 ** _The Case of the Cardiac Arrest_**

"The heart medication you're taking is known to cause bouts of amnesia?" Sherlock asked as he walked passed his latest client, Joel Fentiman.

"Yes, I... I think so." Joel answered, frowning slightly. "Why?"

"Because the fingerprints on your brother's neck were your own." Sherlock replied as he settled into his chair, not even looking up from his phone.

 ** _A different day_**

"Sherlock," Marie said in a warning tone, "please put the phone down, _sometimes?_ "

"I am." He answered quickly, setting his phone down swiftly, but Marie pointed out: "You haven't stopped solving a crime, or looking for one, on that phone for the last fourteen hours."

"Has it only been fourteen?" Sherlock asked, genuinely surprised, and Marie threatened: "Keep this up, and I'm going to stay at your parents' house until the babies arrives."

Sherlock balked.

 ** _Bad day_**

"A jellyfish?" John chortled as he walked up the stairs to Sherlock's flat, and Sherlock agreed as he followed: "I know."

"You can't arrest a jellyfish." John laughed, and Sherlock shrugged: "You could try."

"We did try." John answered, still amused, when his phone vibrated. Several times.

He pulled it out, wondering what was going on, and Sherlock picked up his own phone as John unlocked his to find…

"Oh... Oh, God." John murmured as he checked his phone, and Sherlock questioned: "Mary?"

"59 missed calls." John confirmed, and Sherlock's eyes widened.

"We're in a lot of trouble." He muttered as he turned and raced back down the stairs.

 _A little later_

"AH! Ow!" Mary screamed as she clutched her stomach while trying to breathe. "Oh, my God! Oh, my God!"

"Relax," John stated as he drove as quickly as he dared, "it's got two syllables-"

"I'm a nurse, darling," Mary snarled, "I think I know what to do!"

She broke off with a pained breath, and Marie encouraged from the passenger seat: "You can do this, Mary."

"OH!" Mary groaned, and John urged: "Come on, then..."

"Re!" Mary gasped out, and John finished as he let out a deep breath with Mary, trying to encourage her: "Lax!"

"No, just drive, please, God, just drive!" Mary cried as she started squirming in the back seat, trying to fight the pain of contractions, and Marie glanced back. "God, drive! AH!"

"Sherlock." Marie ordered as she saw her husband still texting away on his phone. "Mary."

"That's it, Mary." Sherlock said carelessly, still typing. "Re..."

"Don't you start!" Mary snarled, and Sherlock paused in his typing to look at her as he finished lamely: "...lax."

Marie gave him a look while Mary growled and then smacked Sherlock's head. Except then she felt another contraction, stronger than the others, and her grip on Sherlock's head tightened, shoving him into the car window as she gasped: "John, John... I think you have to pull over!"

"Mary, Mary..." John tried to calm her, but Mary shouted: "Pull over!"

"Oh, my God!" Sherlock gasped as he stared at Mary, or more specifically her lower stomach, while she screamed: "AH!"

* * *

 _A few days later: 14 February 2015_

John and Mary beamed as a flash burst, and Mrs. Hudson asked anxiously as she held the camera: "Has that come out? Oh, they never come out when I take them."

"Let's have a look." Molly said kindly, reaching for the camera as John smiled while Mary patted and soothed their newborn in her arms, the happy family sitting on their living room sofa while Mrs. Hudson tried to take a photo of them.

"Aw, she's so beautiful." Mrs. Hudson cooed, staring lovingly at the baby in Mary's arms, and Marie smiled while Molly handed the camera back to Mrs. Hudson with a murmured: "Have another go."

"It's okay, I got one." Marie informed her, showing her the picture she'd taken on her cell phone.

Molly looked over, smiling widely at the sweet photo, while Mrs. Hudson turned to the Watsons and asked eagerly: "What about a name?"

"Catherine." John answered, and Marie raised a brow.

She then snorted as Mary quickly interjected: "Uh, yeah, we've gone off that."

"Have we?" John asked, and Mary reminded him: "Yeah."

"Oh." John just shrugged, when Sherlock piped up from the corner of the room where he'd been texting away on his phone: "Well, you know what I think..."

"It's not a girl's name." Mary and John answered at the same time while Marie rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

Sherlock smiled slightly, while John added: "Marie, Molly, Mrs. H, we would love you to be godparents."

"Oh!" Mrs. Hudson sniffled while Molly laughed and Marie smiled.

"If you..." John trailed off, the answer clear as Mrs. Hudson beamed and Molly asked eagerly: "Really?"

"Of course." Mary answered, and Marie leaned over carefully to kiss her friend's cheek. Mary smiled back as Marie nodded, before she moved back so Molly and Mrs. Hudson could come over and coo over the baby, while John walked over to Sherlock.

"And, uh... you too, Sherlock?" John asked, letting out a slight exasperated sigh as he saw Sherlock still on his phone.

"You too what?" Sherlock asked as Marie walked over, and John said with a raised brow: "Godfather, we'd like you to be godfather."

"God is a ludicrous fiction, dreamt up by inadequates who abnegate all responsibility to an invisible magic friend." Sherlock answered.

"Yeah, but there'll be cake." John said firmly. "Will you do it?"

Sherlock glanced at him, and then muttered: "I'll get back to you."

"He'll be there." Marie corrected as she came up to them, and Sherlock rolled his eyes when he froze. Marie had paused mid-step, her hand going to her stomach and her eyes going wide.

"John, we're going to need to borrow your car." Sherlock said urgently, dropping his phone for once while John blinked.

"Why-?" He began, when Marie whimpered: "Oh God, oh God, oh God."

John's eyes widened, Mary looked around in alarm, and Mrs. Hudson and Molly frowned in concern as Marie took deep breaths between whimpers.

"As I said, God is a lud-" Sherlock began, and Marie snapped: "Shut up, get the car!"

 _A little later… again_

"AH!"

"Re-" Sherlock began, and Marie snarled: "Don't even try."

"All right, it was worth a shot." Sherlock muttered, and John said severely from his seat beside Marie at the back: "Sherlock."

"Shut up, and just drive!" Marie cried, gripping the car seat tightly, and Sherlock muttered: "Of course your contractions _would_ come quickly."

"Sherlock!" John scolded while Marie cried: "This was your fault, not mine!"

"Technically-" Sherlock began, when she screamed in pain: "AH!"

"All right, driving!" He said in alarm, and John glanced briefly away from Marie and out the car window.

He started, and he asked: "Christ, Sherlock, what speed are you going at?!"

"Well…" Sherlock trailed off, before he said abruptly: "John, hold Marie steady!"

"What-?" John began, when Sherlock slammed the brakes.

They almost went flying forwards, John hurriedly using his body to brace Marie, and Sherlock was already out the door as John slowly recovered.

"Come on." Sherlock said impatiently as he wrenched open the back door, and John demanded: "How were you not stopped on the road?"

"Mycroft." Was all Sherlock said, before Marie screamed again.

* * *

 _A few days later… again_

"Aw!" Mrs. Hudson beamed as she took the photo of Marie and the newborn twins – Sherlock having refused outright to have a photo taken – while Molly smiled widely beside her.

They were gathered once more, this time at Baker Street, and John grinned at Marie as Mary rocked their baby girl in her arms beside him. Sherlock had backed away from the camera, but now that picture time was safely over he moved back to take one of the twins from Marie, holding his daughter awkwardly but securely.

"Who'd have ever thought it?" Mrs. Hudson sighed as Molly moved to the sofa to congratulate Marie and coo at the baby boy in her arms. "Sherlock, becoming a father!"

"Yes, well, it happens to the best of us." Sherlock muttered, but his expression betrayed him as he stared down with a soft smile at his daughter in his arms.

Since they'd been born, the twins had been an infinite source of curiosity and awe for the detective. And though he claimed otherwise, he'd been wrapped around their thumb since day one when he'd looked at their tiny faces. Born at thirty seven weeks, the twins had arrived perfectly on time and been proclaimed healthy to the very proud parents and close friends.

Though Greg had laughed over the phone at the irony of whom he called the most unromantic person's (Sherlock) kids being born on Valentine's Day, of all days.

"Oh, she looks just like her father, with her brown curls and blue eyes." Mrs. Hudson sighed happily, peering at the baby in Sherlock's arms, while Molly said admiringly: "But he got his mother's eyes."

She indicated the baby boy in Marie's arms, who blinked back with said eyes as Marie chuckled.

"And have you decided on names yet?" Mrs. Hudson asked eagerly, looking between Sherlock and Marie.

"Yes." Sherlock answered shortly, before Marie could, and John raised a brow in surprise.

"What did you decide in the end?" Molly asked curiously, and Marie replied: "Scott John Holmes," Mrs. Hudson squealed while Mary nudged an abashed but grinning John, "and Sheryl Mckayla Holmes."

"You actually went with Sheryl in the end?" John asked, laughing, and Sherlock sighed: "Yes, Marie persisted."

"You _did_ say Sherlock was a girl's name." Marie teased, and Mary laughed: "I think it's perfect – they're both perfect."

She smiled at Sherlock, who rolled his eyes at all the sentiment going around, when Marie began: "Oh, and Mrs. Hudson, Molly, John, Mary; we'd love it if you could be guardians for the twins."

"Aw, not godparents?" Mary teased, and Marie laughed: "Well, since neither Sherlock or I belief in faith… We're also going to ask Greg."

"Who?" Sherlock asked, and Marie sighed: "Lestrade."

"Oh. We are?" He asked, and Marie answered firmly: "Yes, Sherlock. We are."

She turned back to their friends as she asked: "Molly, we were hoping you and Greg would be Scott's guardian, and John, Mary, and Mrs. Hudson, if you would be Sheryl's?"

"We'd love to." Mary answered warmly, and Marie smiled back gratefully as Molly added: "The honour's all ours."

"Hmm." Sherlock hummed, shrugging away their smiles, but John just chuckled and clasped a hand on his friend's shoulder, and Sherlock finally cracked a smile for them as they all chatted happily around the new lives about to start.

*A/N Spiegel means mirror in German.


	3. Parenthood

"Father," the priest prayed, "we ask you to send your blessings on this water and sanctify it for our use this day." He swirled the holy water before him. "In Christ's name."

Marie smiled, though she kept prodding Sherlock surreptitiously as he texted throughout the ceremony.

John and Mary didn't notice, standing beside the priest as he asked: "Now, what name have you given your daughter?"

Mary exchanged smiles with John before she answered: "Rosamund Mary."

Marie's lips twitched in amusement, before she grimaced as Sherlock asked under his breath, finally looking up from his phone: "Rosamund?"

"It means 'Rose of the world'." Molly explained softly from Sherlock's other side. "Rosie for short."

"Hm." Sherlock hummed, his attention back on his phone, and Molly asked through grit teeth: "Didn't you get John's text?"

"No. I delete his texts." Sherlock mumbled as he typed away. "I delete any text that begins 'Hi'."

"No idea why some people think you're incapable of human emotion." Molly muttered, scowling, and Mrs. Hudson cleared her throat from beside them.

"Sorry." Molly muttered, and Marie prodded Sherlock one more time as Molly hissed at him: "Phone!"

Sherlock glanced at them, and then placed his hands behind his back. Marie sighed as she watched him type behind his back while the priest asked: "And now, godparents, are you ready to help the parents of this child in their duties as Christian parents?"

"We are." The three women replied, and Marie gave Sherlock a look.

Molly, however, nudged him sharply, causing Sherlock's finger to slip slightly on his phone and Marie hung her head as Siri stated: "Sorry, I didn't catch that. 'Please repeat the question."

John closed his eyes irritably while Mary narrowed her eyes, and Marie finally reached over and confiscated Sherlock's phone.

* * *

Sherlock sighed as he faced the wall, before he began in exasperation: "As ever, Watson, you see but do not observe."

He turned to John's armchair as he continued flatly: "To you, the world remains an impenetrable mystery, whereas, to me, it is an open book. Hard logic versus romantic whimsy - that is your choice. You fail to connect actions to their consequences. Now, for the last time."

He picked up the fallen object as he stated firmly: "If you want to _keep_ the rattle, do not _throw_ the rattle."

He held out the rattle in a sign of peace, offering it to the baby sitting in the infant's chair set up on John's armchair. Little Rosie took the rattle calmly, gurgling as she looked at the toy with her blue eyes; and Marie walked out of their room and into the living room just in time to see Rosie throw the rattle right into Sherlock's face.

The rattle hit Sherlock's nose, before falling to the ground with a small jangle and Marie laughed quietly so as not to wake John and Mary, fast asleep on the living room sofa, and Scottie sleeping in their room.

"Like that would work." Marie chuckled as she rocked her and Sherlock's own daughter in her arms, Sheryl yawning sleepily, and Sherlock scowled at her.

"It worked on Sheryl." He countered, and Marie pointed out: "Yes, but did it work on Scottie?"

"It almost worked." Sherlock protested, before he questioned: "And 'Scottie'?"

"Just be grateful I'm not calling you 'Sherly'." Marie answered with a shrug.

* * *

"That's it." Sherlock said determinedly. "I'm doing it."

"No, Sherlock." Marie said irritably as she picked up the crying baby. "You can't tape your child's mouth shut to stop her crying."

She turned to the child, soothing: "What's the matter, _Chérie_? Why are you crying?"

She then sniffed, while Sherlock complained: "I warned her I would do it if she wouldn't just take the dummy."

He wielded the round object around in his hand to emphasize his point as he groused: "I was about to start working on a case, when she started crying."

"Did you think to check her diaper?" Marie sighed as she wrinkled her nose, sniffing against Sheryl's bottom.

Sherlock blinked and then lit up in realization as he murmured: "Oh, so that's what the smell was."

"Sherlock!" Marie scolded, and he protested: "I can't think of everything."

"You can solve a murder that had Scotland Yard scratching their heads for weeks, without leaving the flat, and yet you couldn't deduce what the smell coming from your daughter's diaper was?" Marie asked, raising a brow.

"Well, how was I to know what was going through her tiny little brain." Sherlock sulked. "Murderers are so much easier to read and anticipate."

"I'm not sure if you just insulted our daughter, or murderers." Marie commented as she started to change Sheryl's diaper with an exasperated sigh – but there was something else in her tone that made Sherlock pause.

He sat for a moment, watching her carefully, as he'd done a few times the last few months. She ignored him, focusing on her task and knowing what was on his mind. It was something weighing on her own heart, and she knew he knew exactly what was wrong, but they never discussed it.

For while he'd improved significantly since he'd met her and John, Sherlock was still not the best at confronting emotional problems… least of all a woman's emotions. He knew that, and for once opted to keep his mouth shut rather than accidentally stick his foot into it. She knew what he was doing, but it didn't make things any easier on Marie's sometimes heavy heart.

After a moment, Sherlock offered: "I could look after the kids for the afternoon if you want to see Molly, or do groceries, or something?"

"Really?" Marie asked, slightly amused as she glanced at Sherlock, who nodded.

"Yeah, you could go outside, get some fresh air – though maybe not see Molly then." Sherlock said. "Not much fresh air in a mortuary."

"No, there isn't." Marie smiled.

Sherlock being cluelessly sweet was always one of his most awkward moments, looking almost like a lost child as he fiddled with things and avoided direct eye contact - very different from his calculating, almost cold persona when he was making deductions.

But Marie still loved that she could still bring out that softer, more human side to the man she loved, for while he and Mycroft may often consider it a weakness, she saw it as a sign that he cared and could be capable of human emotion.

That didn't mean she was above teasing him, though, and she asked amusedly: "You don't have a case you're working on?"

"Well, it can wait." Sherlock replied, and Marie smiled.

"It's all right, Sherlock, I'm fine." She reassured. "Go out and solve a case, I know you're itching to get some air. You've been cooped up for a while now… a while for you, at least."

"No, no, I can wait, you should go." Sherlock reassured, but Marie hinted: "I think it's almost time to feed Scottie anyway."

"Oh." Sherlock muttered, glancing at his watch to see Marie was right. It was almost eleven, and Scott Holmes was nothing but punctual about his meal. "Right."

"Go on." Marie encouraged. "I'm doing fine, promise."

Sherlock hesitated a moment longer, but gave in. Leaning forward, he kissed Marie, placed another kiss on his daughter's nose – for which he received a wrinkled nose and a happy gurgle – before he strode out the door, calling: "I shouldn't be long – the case is only a seven-and-a-half."

Marie rolled her eyes as he shut the door, when her phone alerted her to a text message. Fumbling for her while balancing Sheryl on her hip, Marie ended up juggling her phone a bit in her free hand to check the message. She grinned when she saw who it was from, and opened the text instantly.

'What is this? What am I supposed to do with this?' Mycroft had asked, in response to a picture Marie had sent him.

It was of Sherlock sleeping on the bed with a twin curled up on either side of him, the three having fallen asleep in that position after a long and tiring day. Marie had returned from grocery shopping the previous day to find them like that, three curly heads pressed close, and had - on impulse - taken the picture to show Mycroft.

'It's your brother, and your niece and nephew.' Marie texted back with a grin. 'And you do what you want with it.'

'… Delete it?' Mycroft returned, and Marie laughed.

Shaking her head, she was about to pocket the phone when it dinged again, and she checked the last message with a wide smile.

'Thank you.' Mycroft had said, and she could almost see the grudging look on his face as he typed the words.

' _I knew it. The old softie._ ' Marie thought with a chuckle. Despite all his pretenses otherwise, Marie knew Mycroft did care for his family, and that now included the twins he was 'forced' to call niece and nephew.

'You're welcome.' Marie typed back lightly, before pocketing her phone and tickling Sheryl.

The baby gurgled happily, smiling her crinkly little smile and Marie smiled back as she walked towards their bedroom to put Sheryl down and pick Scottie up for his lunch.

* * *

"How're you doing?"

Marie sighed into her phone as she answered a little impatiently: "I'm fine, Mary. I just… get emotional sometimes."

"It's just," Mary argued, "you've been going through emotional swings – very rare for you -, and you said you were starting to feel guilt and anxiety about your past, and don't think I don't know about your insomnia."

Marie scowled, touching the dark circles under her eyes as she muttered: "Twins can be difficult."

"And I'm not saying they aren't." Mary reminded. "But I do worry that you're going through PPD, at least on some level. Sherlock noticed it instantly, too, and we're worried – it's been a few months now."

"I should've known he'd talk to you since he doesn't mention it to me." Marie growled, and she could almost see Mary shrugging her shoulders as she answered: "Of course he would. Like I said, he's worried."

"Clearly not enough to say it to my face." Marie snapped, and Mary pointed out: "There's that emotional swing again."

Marie sighed, rubbing her eyes, as Mary continued: "And he _is_ worried, worried enough that he doesn't want to bring it up and stress you even further. He's basically getting counseling from me, he's been texting me so much."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Marie muttered. "I know he's trying, it's just…"

"You don't want to admit you're being weak." Mary observed, and Marie scowled. "And don't give me that face."

Marie made another face Mary's comment – her friend knew her well.

"Look," Mary sighed, "is this about Scottie and Chérie, or about your past?"

"Both." Marie finally admitted softly. "I could control the hormones, I could control the anxiety, if I just didn't…"

She trailed off, exhaling sharply, before she asked randomly: "Do you ever think back to everything you've done, and wish now that you hadn't done most of it?"

"Yes." Mary answered briefly and flatly. "It was… fun, at the time, the adventures, the thrills, but… yes. I do look at Rosie now, and think back and… but it's in the past."

"What if it isn't?" Marie countered. "Moriarty's ghost is already back to haunt us, who's to say there isn't someone else? And if someone like Magnussen could exist…"

"That isn't the way to think." Mary warned. "You shouldn't think about it like that. Yes, there are horrors in your past that quite frankly have been erased – _for now_. But we can't live with the fear that our shadows will catch up to us. We can only go on, knowing we live in the now, and for the future."

"But, there are so many." Marie whispered as she stared down at her babies, sleeping side-by-side in their cot. "Jim had enemies, enemies that are by association my enemies, and now even his allies are my enemies. And let's not even start on Sherlock. I just," she sighed, "I just can't shake the feeling that karma always comes back to bite us."

"Maybe it will." Mary replied evenly. "But maybe, it won't. And think about it: isn't it better to cherish what we've been blessed to have, a loving husband and children to care and love, than to waste it watching for what may never come?"

"I suppose…" Marie sighed, and Mary's voice was kind as she said: "We've had rough times, but I truly do think we've achieved our peace – and quite frankly, I think we deserve it."

"Don't you know it." Marie chuckled half-heartedly, and Mary encouraged: "Just think about it, okay? I know you've been worrying about this since you found out you were pregnant – don't act surprised, I know you better than you think – and it's only gotten worse with the mild PPD. But hey, remember we're all here for you. Okay?"

"Okay." Marie smiled, actually feeling a little better. It would take time to get over her moodiness – because Marie did suspect Mary was right, damn her – but at least for now, her spirits did lift slightly. "Thanks, Mary."

"Any time." Mary answered warmly. "Give my love to Sherlock, and the twins."

"I will." Marie chuckled. "Give mine to John and Rosie."

"Will do." Mary answered, and the two women hung up their phones.

Marie sighed, but smiled a little as she looked at her babies lying in their cot… only to start abruptly as the front door slammed open and Sherlock shouted: "Marie!"

She glanced down, breathing out in relief to see the twins hadn't moved let alone woken up, before she hurried out into the living room.

"Sherlock, what on Earth are you-" Marie stopped speaking abruptly as she found herself suddenly face-to-face with an enormous bouquet of flowers.

"… Sherlock?" Marie asked, peering over the flowers and at her husband, who was holding the bouquet out to her face.

"Happy anniversary." He announced, and Marie pointed out flatly: "Our anniversary's not for another two weeks."

"No," Sherlock stated, "it's been five years and twenty-eight days since we first met."

Marie stared at him, and Sherlock added: "Or, if you prefer, it's been three years, five months and six days since we started dating."

Marie burst out laughing, making Sherlock frown slightly.

"What?" He asked, and Marie only clutched her stomach as she laughed harder.

"What? What is it?" Sherlock asked, bewildered, and Marie started to double over she was laughing so hard. "Marie, what was it? Was it something I said?"

"You, Sherlock Holmes," Marie declared between gasps as she brushed tears from her eyes, "are the best man I could ever have asked for."

"Thank you?" He replied, still frowning. "But then, why are you laughing so hard you started _crying_?"

"Oh, Sherlock." Marie smiled, finally calming down enough. "It's because you do things I never expect."

"Well, that's only fair since I can _never_ read you." Sherlock grumbled and Marie smiled, taking the bouquet from him.

Setting it on the kitchen table, she leaned forward, wrapping her arms around Sherlock's neck. He raised an eyebrow at that, glancing at her arms and then back at her face as she pulled him close, pressing right against him. He blinked, before his hands moved to massage Marie's waist as she leant up close towards his face.

"And I laughed, Sherlock," Marie murmured as she stared up at him with bright green eyes, "because you made me smile."

"Good." He murmured back as Marie brushed her lips against his. "I wanted to make you smile."

"I love you." She replied, before kissing him.

He kissed her back instantly, pulling her closer as he bent his bent while his hand moved to tangle in her hair. She answered by burying her hands in his curly hair, tugging slightly and making him growl. She answered with a nip at his lips, and he retaliated by sliding his tongue into her mouth.

The kiss had just started to get passionate, both of them feeling their inner desires stirring, when one of the twins started to cry.

They broke apart instantly, still interlocked, and Marie opened her eyes regretfully to stare at Sherlock, both panting a little as they caught their breath back.

"That sounds like Scottie." Marie murmured, and Sherlock muttered, annoyed: "I'm definitely taping his mouth shut next time."

"You wouldn't dare." Marie chuckled, lifting up on her toes to press one more peck on Sherlock's lips before she turned and headed back towards their room.

"Coming, my precious." Marie called, while Sherlock pouted in the living room.

It didn't seem like Scottie was going back to his nap anytime soon, and Sherlock glanced down at his watch, and scowled. It was only two o'clock, which meant there was another three hours until John and Lestrade came by, the latter with some extraordinary case. It could have been the perfect time… but of course, his son had to butt in.

' _Hm, I must watch out for him._ ' Sherlock sourly as he settled in his armchair and pressed his fingers together in his thinking pose. ' _He's already trying to surpass his father._ '

And it was in that position that first Lestrade found him, three hours later.

*A/N Chérie is French for 'darling' (pronounced sher-ee) and Marie uses it as an affectionate nickname for Sheryl.


	4. Charlie

"What-?" The DI began, but Sherlock didn't even move.

"Nevermind." Lestrade sighed, just as the front door opened downstairs.

He glanced back to see John walking up the stairs, and he greeted lightly: "Hey."

"Afternoon." John replied cheerily. "He says you've got a good one, Greg?"

"Oh, yeah." Lestrade agreed, just as Marie walked in.

"Oh, hello, you two." Marie greeted, nodding at Lestrade and John. "Sorry I didn't come out earlier, the babies-"

"No, it's fine, we just got here." John reassured, and Marie asked: "Either of you want a cup of tea?"

"No thanks, I've got a case." Lestrade explained, and Marie nodded at Sherlock's pose in his armchair as she said dryly: "Yes, I can see that. He's doing his thinking pose."

"It's not a pose." Sherlock murmured, finally moving enough to speak, and Marie chuckled: "Of course it isn't."

Turning back to the other two, she gestured for them to sit as she moved to grab Lestrade a chair, but he said quickly: "No, no, I've got it. You shouldn't move around too much when you're a new mother, and with twins, too."

She raised a brow, but just smiled and let Lestrade pull up his chair while John pulled a chair for her – he'd long learnt to stop trying to offer his seat to Marie, for she would never take it. Instead, he passed over the comfortable dining chair to Marie before settling in his armchair as Lestrade sat in his own

Marie settled in her chair beside Sherlock, as Lestrade began the strange tale: "It was David Welsborough's 50th birthday."

* * *

 _"God, 50!" David Welsborough murmured as he kissed his wife lovingly while the party went on in the room behind them. "Where does it go? I know for a fact I was only 21 this time last week."_

 _"Yeah, well, that's impossible." His wife, Emma, teased as she pulled him closer, drawing him into the sitting room and away from the crowd for a quiet moment. "That was before you met me."_

 _"Well, no, no," David protested, "there never was..."_

 _"There never was such a time." His wife finished with him, smiling as he kissed her again._

 _"She's looking at me disapprovingly again." Emma murmured, glancing to the side jokingly to look at the bust of Margaret Thatcher on one of the sitting room display tables, and David disagreed: "No. She's just jealous."_

 _"Yeah, well, I think we both are." Emma teased, and they grinned at each other when his phone suddenly vibrated._

 _"Oh..." He started, reaching into his suit for his phone while Emma protested: "No, no, David. Come on, you promised."_

 _"No, it's..." David answered absently as he pulled out his phone and checked it. "Oh, no… Oh, it's a Skype call."_

 _"Oh! Then it must be Charlie." Emma said, perking up. "At least he's phoning, I suppose."_

 _David frowned, focusing on trying to answer the call, before he brightened as his son's face appeared on the screen._

 _"Oh, look! Hello!" David called, and Emma also smiled as their son, Charlie, grinned back._

 _"Hey, Dad." Charlie called back. "Happy birthday. Sorry to miss the party, but," his son moved the phone to show them the mountains in the background on the camera, "travel broadens the mind, right?"_

 _The video suddenly froze, pixelating before cutting off_

 _"No! Picture's frozen!" David called, and Charlie answered as the video ended: "Yeah, signal's rubbish. But I can still hear you."_

 _"Why is it rubbish?" David asked, switching the phone to his ear. "Where are you?"_

 _"How is he? Is he eating?" Emma interjected. "Ask him if he's eating."_

 _David hushed her, trying to hear his son, when a voice called: "David? Come on!"_

 _"OK, no, hang on a sec," David called into his phone as a few party guests came over, "I'll find somewhere quieter."_

 _Emma met the guests instead, while David walked away to a quiet spot, asking: "So, Charlie, where are you?"_

 _He was met with silence, and David called: "Are you there?"_

 _"Sorry, I'm here." Charlie answered quickly but rather abruptly, and sounding distinctly off. "I'm just a bit..."_

 _David frowned as Charlie trailed off, and he asked in concern: "Are you all right?"_

 _"It's nothing." Charlie replied quickly. "Probably just the altitude."_

 _"Altitude?" David repeated a little skeptically, and Charlie chided lightly: "I'm in Tibet. Didn't you see the mountains?"_

 _"Never mind mountains." David answered just as lightly. "Your mother wants to know if you're eating properly."_

 _"Listen, Dad, could you do me a favour?" Charlie asked, and David asked curiously: "What?"_

 _"Could you just check something on my car?" Charlie requested, and David repeated in surprise: "Your car?"_

 _"To settle a bet." Charlie explained while David moved to the front door. "The guys here don't believe I've got a Power Ranger stuck to the bonnet. Could you take a photo and send it?"_

 _"Uh, yes, I can do that." David answered as he walked out onto the driveway, where his son's car had been left parked since he'd gone on his gap year trip._

 _David squatted slightly before the car, carefully snapping the photo, and he grinned as he sent it._

 _"All done." He told his son. "Have you got it?"_

 _There was no answer, and David called: "Charlie?"_

 _Frowning as he checked his phone, David shrugged when he saw the call had been cut, and headed back inside to his party._

* * *

"A week later..." Lestrade added, and John asked curiously: "Yeah?"

"... Something really weird happens." Lestrade informed them, and Marie cocked her head while Sherlock smirked, even as he kept his eyes closed while he listened.

"Drunk driver, he's totally smashed," Lestrade explained, "the cops are chasing him, and he turns into the drive of the Welsborough house to try and get away. Unfortunately..."

* * *

 _The drunk's car went careening into the Welsborough driveway, trying to escape the police. But in his haste, the driver failed to see Charlie Welsborough's parked car until it's took late and he crashes right into the rear at full speed._

 _The impact burst the gas pipes, causing a leak that instantly caught alight from the drunk driver's heated engines. Charlie's car exploded from the gas, the entire car going up in flames while the drunk's car barely remained intact._

* * *

"The drunk guy survived," Lestrade explained, "they managed to pull him out, but when they put the fire out and examined the parked car..."

* * *

 _The flames from the explosion died down to reveal the burnt remains of a human skeleton, sitting in the driver's seat of Charlie's car._

* * *

"Whose body?" John questioned, leaning forward intently, and Lestrade looked at him.

"Charlie Welsborough, the son." He answered, and Marie frowned.

"What?" John asked, shocked, and Lestrade explained, his tone as incredulous as John's: "The son who was in Tibet. DNA all checks out. Night of the party, the car's empty, and a week later... the dead boy's found at the wheel."

Sherlock chuckled deeply, and Lestrade grinned grimly as he stated: "Yeah, I thought it'd tickle you."

"Have you got a lab report?" John asked, and Lestrade nodded as he pulled out a file from his bag.

"Yeah." He answered. "Charlie Welsborough's the son of a Cabinet Minister, so I'm under a lot of pressure to get a result."

John bowed his head, shaking it slightly in sympathy, but Sherlock's eyes finally snapped open as he said flatly: "Who cares about that? Tell me about the seats."

Marie pursed her lips unhappily, glancing at Sherlock briefly, while Lestrade glanced up from where he had been flipping through the file while John repeated: "The seats?"

Lestrade handed John the lab report while Sherlock answered: "Yes, the car seats."

He leaned forward, and Lestrade handed him the file for Sherlock to flip through personally. Marie leaned over to read with him as Sherlock murmured: "Made of vinyl. Two _different_ types of vinyl present."

Marie raised a brow, while Sherlock slowly closed the file and asked: "Was it his own car?"

"Yeah, not flash - he was a student." Lestrade answered, and Sherlock muttered as he leaned back in his seat: "Well, that's suggestive."

"Why?" Lestrade questioned, and Sherlock explained: "Vinyl's cheaper than leather."

"Yeah, right?" Lestrade said, clearly confused, when John piped up: "There's something else."

"Yes?" Sherlock questioned as both he and Marie looked over, and John explained as he gestured at the lab report: "According to this, Charlie Welsborough had already been dead for a week."

Marie stilled to the point she looked like a statue, while Sherlock breathed, his lips curving up in an intrigued smirk :"What?"

"The body in the car, dead for a week." John repeated, and Sherlock said delightedly: "Oh, this is a good one. Is it my birthday?"

Marie scowled at him, while Sherlock looked over at Lestrade, questioning: "You want help?"

"Yes, please." Lestrade sighed, and Sherlock countered: "One condition."

"OK." Lestrade said, confused, and Sherlock ordered: "Take all the credit."

John blinked, as did Lestrade, and Sherlock explained: "It gets boring if I just solve them all."

"Yeah, you say that," Lestrade retorted, "and then John blogs about it, and you get all the credit anyway."

"He's got a point." John noted as he handed back the lab report to Lestrade, who continued: "Which makes me look like some kind of…" he searched for a word as he packed away the file, "prima donna who insists on getting credit for something he didn't do!"

Marie's brow lifted, while John leaned back and commented: "Well, I think you've hit a sore spot, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked at him, completely bewildered, and then looked to Marie for help as Lestrade went on: "Like I'm some kind of… credit junkie."

"Definitely a sore spot." Marie noted, and Sherlock wrinkled his nose while Lestrade said pointedly to Sherlock: "So you take all the glory, thanks-"

"Okay!" Sherlock shrugged, while Lestrade continued: "- Thanks all the same. Look."

He sighed as he said helplessly: "Just solve the bloody thing, will you? It's driving me nuts."

"Anything you say, Giles." Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.

The whole room paused, John looking at Sherlock with wide eyes while Lestrade pursed his lips, actually hurt. Marie placed her elbow just against Sherlock's, and he quickly said with a smile to Lestrade: "Just kidding."

Lestrade twisted his mouth, but turned back to packing away his file, and Sherlock quickly mouthed to John and Marie: "What's his name?"

"Greg." John mouthed back, and Sherlock frowned as he mouthed back: "What?"

"Greg!" Marie mouthed for him.

Lestrade looked up then, and the three quickly feigned innocence, and John piped up: "It's obvious though, isn't it, what happened?"

Marie looked at him in surprise while Sherlock commented: "John, you amaze me. You know what happened?"

"Not a clue." John replied easily. "It's just you normally say that at this point."

Marie actually laughed, and John's lips twitched into a smile as well while Sherlock just smiled slightly as he hummed: "Hmm. Well, then.

Sherlock pushed himself out of his chair, Marie doing the same, and he said as he and Marie walked passed Lestrade: "Let's hope you solve your little problem, Greg."

He started to get out of his dressing gown while Marie hid a smile, and she glanced over Sherlock's shoulder to give Lestrade a smile as the DI's eyes widened and his whole face lit up in delight.

"Hear that?" He whispered to John, who replied with a reassuring nod: "I know!"

Lestrade beamed at Sherlock's back while John nodded at Marie, who winked surreptitiously back at him.

"You bastard." Marie murmured to Sherlock from the corner of her mouth so Lestrade wouldn't see, and Sherlock murmured back: "Well, I can't help it if I can't remember his name."

"You're lucky he still cares about you." Marie noted. "And that you have me and John."

"And that's all I need." Sherlock answered, when a cry sounded from the bedroom.

"Uh, oh." John noted while Marie sighed.

Sherlock glanced at her, but she shook her head, shooing him out as she said: "I've got it."

She popped off to check on the babies and Sherlock paused for a moment longer before he walked out to grab his suit jacket, while Lestrade shook his head and said: "That like you, John?"

"Hm, remarkably similar." John agreed, and Lestrade questioned: "But how is it going generally, fatherhood?"

"Oh, good, great." John answered. "Yeah, amazing."

"Getting any sleep?" Lestrade asked slyly, and John replied instantly: "Christ, no."

"You're at the beck and call of a screaming, demanding baby," Lestrade commented, "woken up at all hours to obey its every whim."

He looked at Sherlock pointedly as he added sarcastically: "Must feel very different..."

Sherlock paused in the middle of buttoning up his suit jacket, and he asked: "Sorry, what?"

John meanwhile chuckled, and he commented: "Yes, well, you know how it is. All you do is clean up their mess, pat them on the head."

"Are you two having a little joke?" Sherlock questioned, frowning in confusion, while John went on: "Not sure how Marie manages all of it."

"With difficulty." Marie replied jokingly as she appeared in the doorway, carrying Scottie. "But, when you love them, what can you do?"

"Hm." John hummed, while Sherlock frowned at her as well.

"What?" He asked, but Marie just smiled angelically as Lestrade chuckled while he turned and walked down the stairs, saying: "Anything else in common between your babies?"

"Never sleeps at reasonable times." Marie sighed as she rocked Scottie while they all walked down the stairs, and John sighed: " _Never_ a word of thanks. Can't even tell people's faces apart."

"This is a joke, isn't it?" Sherlock questioned, cocking his head in confusion as he brought up the rear.

Lestrade just went on, ignoring Sherlock: "Yeah, and it's all, 'Oh, aren't you clever. You're so, so clever'."

"Is it about me?" Sherlock asked as they reached the entrance hall, and Lestrade said 'under his breath': "I think he needs winding."

"You know, I think that really might be it." John commented as he grabbed his coat, and Marie laughed as Sherlock frowned before he stated: "No, don't get it."

"Don't worry too much about." Marie replied, patting Sherlock's cheek.

His eyes narrowed, but she just shook her head in amusement as she said: "Go on, now. You want to look clever – go be Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, though he regained his smirk. But Marie took his arm, retaining his attention as she added seriously: "But try to be nice to the parents. They just lost their child."

She gestured to Scottie in her arms, and Sherlock's gaze softened, though he retorted: "Sentiment contaminates the clarity of hard logic."

"But it can also bring intuition and insights into situations where logic is not enough." Marie reminded him.

"I'll try to keep that in mind." He replied. "I'll be back before bedtime."

He nodded at Scottie, and Marie nodded.

"Be safe, you three." She called after them all as Sherlock rejoined Lestrade and John outside the front door.

They waved back at her, and she waved Scottie's hand back at them, earning three smiles, as the trio of men turned and left in a cab.


	5. Bust

"Charlie's family are pretty cut up about it, as you'd expect," Lestrade told Sherlock as they walked up the Welsborough driveway, "so go easy on them, yeah?"

John's phones rang just as Sherlock answered Lestrade "You know me."

At the same time, John had answered Mary's video called on John's phone, and she called as she carried Rosie on her hip: "Hey, hello."

"Yeah. Got them, don't worry." John informed Mary. "Pampers, the cream you can't get from Boots."

"Yeah, never mind about that." Mary answered impatiently. "Where are you now? At the dead boy's house?"

"Yeah." John said, while Sherlock glanced over with disinterest.

"And what does he think?" Mary asked curiously, nodding on screen to where she could just see Sherlock's outline. "Any theories?"

"Well, I texted you the details." John replied, and Mary answered impatiently: "Yeah, two different types of vinyl."

Sherlock abruptly took the phone from her, ignoring as John protested, to ask: "How do you know about that?"

"What, the different types of vinyl?" Mary laughed. "Oh you'd be _amazed_ at what a receptionist picks up." She stage-whispered: "They know everything!"

"Solved it, then?" Sherlock questioned as Mary cooed at Rosie, and Mary answered with a smile: "I'm working on it."

"Oh, Mary, motherhood's slowing you down." Sherlock commented, and Mary sniped back teasingly: "Pig!"

"Keep trying, Marie's already worked it out." Sherlock replied, ignoring both Lestrade and John's shocked expressions as he handed John's phone back to him.

Lestrade hurried after him as they stepped through the Welsborough's front doorway, and Mary asked John as he caught up as well: "So, what about it, then? What, an empty car that suddenly has a week-old corpse in it? And what are you going to call this one?"

"Oh, the, uh, 'the Ghost Driver'." John answered, and Sherlock turned in exasperation.

"Don't give it a title." He complained, and John countered: "People like the titles."

"I hate the titles." Sherlock retorted, and John hissed back: "Give the people what they want."

"No, never do that - people are stupid." Sherlock answered flatly, and Mary objected over John's phone: "Uh, some people."

"All people are stupid." Sherlock retorted, and Mary pointed out: "Marie?"

"She's not people." He replied, and Mary raised a brow as she indicated herself.

"…Most people are stupid." Sherlock conceded, and Lestrade asked: "What did you mean, Marie's figured this out already? It's bizarre enough, isn't it?

He gestured to the closed living room door, and Sherlock just gave Lestrade a look, before he turned and headed towards the living room door. The other two followed, John hanging up on Mary, and Sherlock managed to school his features into professional sympathy as he walked into the living room, greeting: "Mr. and Mrs. Welsborough."

The couple stood from their sofa at his arrival, and John and Lestrade followed Sherlock inside as the Detective continued: "I really am most terribly sorry to hear about your daughter-"

"Son." John quickly interjected under his breath, and Sherlock swiftly corrected: "Son."

Lestrade introduced to the couple: "Mr. and Mrs. Welsborough, this is Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"Thank you very much for coming." Mr. Welsborough said hoarsely. "We've heard a great deal about you. If anyone can throw any light into this darkness, surely it will be you."

"Well, I believe that I- " Sherlock abruptly broke off as he caught sight of something in the corner of his eye, and he finished absently as he turned to stare at a display table on the far side of the room, under the living room window: "…Can."

Vaguely he heard Mr. Welsborough begin: "But Charlie was our whole world, Mr. Holmes. I..."

Sherlock ignored everything, focusing on the display table – something wasn't right about it, something about the arrangement of the objects on it. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the displayed items, cataloguing each with a slight frown as he tried to figure out what error his mind had absently caught.

"Sherlock?" John asked, noticing Sherlock's preoccupation, and Mr. Welsborough blinked.

"Mr. Holmes?" Mr. Welsborough asked, and Sherlock answered quickly, breaking from his concentration: "Sorry, you were saying?"

"Well," Mr. Welsborough repeated, hugging his heartbroken wife, "Charlie was our whole world, Mr. Holmes. I... I don't think we'll ever get over this."

"No. Shouldn't think so." Sherlock answered a little flatly.

His eyes had drifted back to the table, while Mr. Welsborough paused, taken aback by Sherlock's bluntness, but Sherlock didn't care as he said: "So sorry, will you excuse me a moment? I just..."

He walked slowly over to the table, eyes narrowed, while the others all blinked and glanced at each other.

"I'll... I'll just," John murmured to the Welsborough's "um... Ahem."

He walked over to Sherlock, who was staring at the table of Margaret Thatcher memorabilia, and whispered: "Now, what's wrong?"

"Not sure, Just..." Sherlock murmured back, absorbed in examining the table. "By the pricking of my thumbs."

"Seriously?" John scoffed, staring at his friend. "You?"

"Intuitions are not to be ignored, John." Sherlock retorted in an undertone. "They represent data processed too fast for the conscious mind to comprehend."

He turned back to the Welsborough's as he asked: "What is this?"

He gestured at the table, and a startled Mr. Welsborough answered: "Oh, it's a sort of shrine, I suppose, really."

He walked over, standing beside Sherlock as he explained: "Bit of a fan of Mrs. T. A big hero of mine when I was getting started."

"Right, yes." Sherlock said, smiling politely as he pulled out his small, portable magnifying glass. He examined the table, noting the marks in the centre, and then looking at the other figurines and photographs.

"Who?" He asked after a pause, turning to Mr. Welsborough, who asked blankly: "What?"

"Who...? Who was this?" Sherlock asked, gesturing at the table, and John's mouth dropped slightly while Mr. Welsborough asked incredulously: "Are you serious?"

"Sherlock..." John warned, and Mr. Welsborough said in disbelief: "It's... It's Margaret Thatcher, the first female Prime Minister of this country."

"Right." Sherlock muttered as he looked back at the table while John frowned.

"Prime Minister?" Sherlock asked this time, and Mr. Welsborough answered, looking at Sherlock curiously: "Leader of the Government."

"Right." Sherlock murmured, turning back to the table. "…Female?"

"For God's sake!" John said in exasperation as Mr. Welsborough frowned. "You know perfectly well who she is."

As Mr. Welsborough walked back to his wife, John asked quietly: "Why are you playing for time?"

"It's the gap." Sherlock whispered back as he gestured at the large empty space in the middle of the table. "Look at the gap. It's wrong. Everything else is perfectly ordered, managed. The whole thing's verging on OCD."

He glanced back at the Welsborough as he added in a louder voice: "My respects. This figurine," he pointed at it, "is routinely repositioned after the cleaner's been in, this picture is straightened every day, yet this ugly gap remains."

He pointed at the gap in the middle of the table as he continued: "Something's missing from here, but only recently."

"Yes, a, a..." Mr. Welsborough began, as Sherlock leaned in to closely examine the markings on the table in the middle, right around the gap.

"Plaster bust." Sherlock finished with Mr. Welsborough, who frowned in confusion, while his wife exploded: "Oh, for God's sake! It got broken. What the hell has this got to do with Charlie?"

Sherlock however, cocked his head and clicked his fingers as he announced: "Rug!"

He pointed at said item on the floor, looking back at the Welsbouoruhg's while Mrs. Welsborough asked in confusion: "What?"

"Well, how could it get broken?" Sherlock pointed out. "The only place for it to fall is the floor," he pointed again, "and there is a big thick rug."

"Does it matter?" Mrs. Welsborough demanded, impatient and angry, and John interjected soothingly: "Mrs. Welsborough, my apologies. It is worth letting him do this."

"Is your friend quite mad?" Mrs. Welsborough asked sharply, and John replied: "No, he's an arsehole, but it's an easy mistake."

"Look, no, we had a break-in," Mr. Welsborough said impatiently, "some little bastard smashed it to bits. We found the remains out there in the porch."

"The porch where we came in?" Sherlock questioned, but Mr. Welsborough continued over him: "How anybody could hate her so much they'd go to the trouble of smashing her likeness..."

He scoffed, but Sherlock shrugged as he answered calmly: "I'm no expert, but, uh, possibly her face."

John closed his eyes in annoyance, but Sherlock didn't see as he stared at the table, wondering: "Why didn't he smash all the others? Perfect opportunity, and look at that one," he pointed at a picture in a small frame, "she's clearly smiling in that one."

"Oh, Inspector, this is clearly a waste of time." Mrs. Welsborough stated. "And if there's nothing-"

"I know what happened to your son." Sherlock interrupted, and instantly the Welsboroughs were looking at him fixedly.

"You do?" Mrs. Welsborough asked with wide eyes, and Lestrade stared while Sherlock replied flatly: "It's quite simple, superficial, to be blunt."

He paused as he remembered Marie's words to be kind, and he said in a slightly gentler tone: "But first, tell me, the night of the break-in, this room was in darkness?"

He gestured around the living room, and Mr. Welsborough replied confusedly: "Well, yes."

"And the porch where it was smashed," Sherlock continued, "I noticed the motion sensor was damaged, so I assume it's permanently lit."

"How did you notice that?" Lestrade asked, surprised, and Sherlock retorted: "I lack the arrogance to ignore details. I'm not the police."

Lestrade's brows furrowed, while John piped up: "So you're saying he smashed it where he could see it."

"Exactly." Sherlock answered, and John questioned: "Why?"

"Don't know." Sherlock replied with a shrug. "Wouldn't be fun if I knew."

"Mr. Holmes, please!" Mrs. Welsborough begged, and Sherlock barely restrained his sigh.

Picturing his own son, he endeavoured to be calm and gentle as he turned back to the Welsboroughs and explained softly: "It was your 50th birthday, Mr Welsborough, of course you were disappointed that your son hadn't made it back from his gap year. After all, he was in Tibet."

"Yes." Mr. Welsborough answered, uncomprehending where this was going, when Sherlock corrected quietly: "No."

John also glanced at Sherlock, waiting, as Mr. Welsborough repeated in confusion: "No?"

Sherlock explained: "The first part of your conversation was, in fact, pre-recorded video. Easily arranged."

Mr. Welsborough blinked, remembering the Skype call that he'd received, and Sherlock continued: "The _trick_ was meant to be a surprise."

"A trick?" Mr. Welsborough repeated incredulously, but Sherlock replied firmly: "Obviously. There were two types of vinyl in the burnt-out remains of the car."

Mr. Welsborough thought back to his son's odd request to come to the car to take a picture, while Sherlock explained: "One, the actual passenger seat, the other, a good copy. Well, good enough. Effectively a costume to hide your son in the car seat."

Mrs. Welsborough went into shock while Mr. Welsborough's brows furrowed and he almost pleaded: "You're joking?"

"No, I'm not." Sherlock answered softly. "All he wanted was for you to get close enough to the car so he could spring the surprise."

Sherlock paused, letting them imagine what could have happened, had Charlie's birthday surprise worked.

* * *

 _Charlie sat, waiting, in the driver's seat with the fake seat covered over himself. David Welsborough came out of the house, standing before his son's car and snapping a photo of the Power Ranger on the front._

 _As soon as he heard the click, Charlie threw off the fake seat, revealing himself, and David's eyes widened in surprise and delight._

 _"Oh, my God!" He cried, while his son shouted happily: "Surprise!"_

* * *

"That's when it happened." Sherlock said grimly. "I can't be certain, of course, but I think Charlie must have suffered some sort of a seizure."

He nodded at Mr. Welsborough as he reminded the older man: "You said he'd felt unwell?"

Mr. Welsborough sat back in shock, remembering his son's strange pause in their phone conversation, which Charlie had dismissed lightly as the altitude. Except he hadn't been in Tibet – he'd been ill in his car.

"He died there and then." Sherlock finished softly. "No-one had any cause to go near his car, so there he remained, in the driver's seat, hidden, until the accident. When the two cars were examined, the fake seat had melted in the fire, revealing Charlie, who'd been sitting there, quite dead, for a week."

"Oh, God!" Mrs. Welsborough cried, breaking down into tears while her husband stared at Sherlock in dismay and sorrow.

"Poor kid." Lestrade murmured, hanging his head, and Sherlock said sympathetically: "Really, I'm so sorry. Mr. Welsborough, Mrs. Welsborough."

He walked out with that, and his sympathy for the couple immediately dropped. While he could – somewhat – understand how the loss of their son might feel to them, he scoffed at their inability to realize what had happened, and their failure to see the signs of Charlie's illness beforehand. Who in their right mind sent their child to _Tibet_ for hiking trips, when his son clearly had a poor heart and weak constitution?

' _People, that's who._ ' Sherlock thought as he headed out onto the porch. ' _Stupid people, who don't_ observe.'

Shaking off the thoughts, he focused instead on examining the porch, instantly spotting the small scrape marks on the bottom of one of the pillars. Sherlock leaned in to examine the spot with his magnifying glass.

As John, and then Lestrade walked out behind him, Sherlock stated: "This is where it was smashed."

"That was amazing." Lestrade breathed as he joined them, and Sherlock frowned, asking as he continued to examine the marks: "What?"

"The car, the kid." Lestrade said in awe, and Sherlock dismissed: "Ancient history. Why are you still talking about it?"

"You could be a little more sympathetic." John pointed out, and Sherlock answered: "Why? They should have seen all the signs."

"Arrogant arse." John muttered, before he asked instead: "What's so important about a broken bust of Margaret Thatcher?"

"I can't stand it, never can." Sherlock replied irritably as he raised his head slightly. "There's a loose thread in the world."

"It doesn't mean you have to pull on it." John commented, and Sherlock looked up at his friend as he questioned: "What kind of a life would that be? Besides," he turned to stare into space, "I have the strangest feeling..."

He trailed off, his mind immediately flashing back to Moriarty.

 _'Miss me?'_

Sherlock shook his head, dispelling the thought for now, and he said as he walked towards the waiting cab: "That's mine. You two take a... bus."

"Why?" John scoffed incredulously, but Sherlock answered flatly as he headed to the cab alone: "I need to concentrate, and I don't want to hit you."

He climbed into the cab alone, saying to the driver: "The Mall, please."

As the cab drove off, leaving and irritated and exasperated John and Lestrade, Sherlock whipped out his phone. He paused as his hand hovered over Marie's name, his thumb almost brushing the screen in a caress while his wedding band glinted softly on his ring finger, and he sighed. But pushing aside his personal feelings, he pressed the call button, and waited as it rang.

"Marie," he said when she answered, "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to make it back before bedtime."

*A/N Hi everyone, I'm really sorry but things are starting to look really busy for me. I'll continue to update weekly, but unfortunately, I do not think I can keep uploading two chapters per week on my stories. Sorry, but I hope you understand!


	6. Thatcher

"I met her once." Mycroft commented as he sat at his office desk.

"Thatcher?" Sherlock queried as he paced before his brother, who added: "Rather arrogant, I thought."

" _You_ thought that?" Sherlock repeated, raising his brow, and Mycroft chuckled: "Ha, I know."

His smile dropped as quickly as it came, and he asked with a frown: "Why am I looking at this?"

Mycroft lifted the phone in his hand, depicting a picture of a baby girl, and Sherlock paused.

"That's her, John and Mary's baby." He said as though it were obvious. "I know Marie's already sent you several of Scott and Sheryl, so I thought you should see their child, too."

"Oh, I see, yes." Mycroft said in understanding, looking back at the phone with a fake smile. "Looks very..." he struggled for a word that wasn't insulting, "fully functioning."

He looked back up at his younger brother, who frowned and asked flatly: "Is that really the best you can do?"

"Sorry, I've never been very good with them." Mycroft stated monotonously, and Sherlock frowned as he asked: "Babies?"

"Humans." Mycroft replied with a mirthless smile, and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Explains why you had a slightly _better_ reaction to the picture of your niece and nephew." He muttered as he took his phone back from his brother, and Mycroft replied: "Well, even they just looked…"

He trailed off with a shrug, before adding: "Still too young to tell."

"They _are_ my children that you're referring to." Sherlock pointed out flatly, and Mycroft returned: "Which is why I am waiting to give them a chance – between yourself and Marie, I can only hope you've managed to create somewhat intelligent beings."

"Cheery as ever." Sherlock scoffed, before he pocketed his phone and said, back to business: "Moriarty - did he have any connection with Thatcher? Any interest in her?"

"Why on earth would he?" Mycroft scoffed, and Sherlock paused in his pacing to reply scathingly: "I don't know. You tell me."

Mycroft simply looked at his brother for a moment, before he leant forward, stating as he opened an old file on his desk: "In the last year of his life, James Moriarty was involved with four political assassinations, over 70 assorted robberies and terrorist attacks, including a chemical weapons factory in North Korea."

Sherlock frowned in thought, while Mycroft continued: "And had latterly shown some interest in tracking down the Black Pearl of the Borgias, which is still missing, by the way," he leveled a look at his younger brother, "in case you feel like applying yourself to something practical."

"It's a _pearl._ " Sherlock retorted. "Get another one."

Mycroft rolled his eyes, while Sherlock stared off into space, murmuring: "There's something important about this. I'm sure."

Mycroft frowned, lifting his head slightly to get a better look at his younger brother as Sherlock continued: "Maybe it's Moriarty. Maybe it's not. But _something's_ coming."

"Are you having a premonition, brother mine?" Mycroft asked pointedly, and Sherlock blinked before he looked back at his brother.

"The world is woven from billions of lives," Sherlock answered thoughtfully, "every strand crossing every other."

"Since when were you so interested in premonitions?" Mycroft asked flatly, before he raised a brow. "Worried about your wife?" After all, her name is rather symbolic, isn't it? 'Marie'."

"Hm, yes. 'Rebellion'." Sherlock answered a tad sarcastically. "Very apt."

"And 'wished-for-child'." Mycroft pointed out darkly

Sherlock went silent, and Mycroft went on with a raised brow: "Now, if we were to have fanciful whims on pre-destined fates, I wonder to whom my dear sister-in-law's name would be a reference to?"

"That's not what I meant." Sherlock snapped. "What we call premonition is just movement of the web. If you could attenuate to every strand of quivering data, the future would be entirely calculable. As inevitable as mathematics."

Mycroft just smiled a little, and he noted: "'Appointment In Samarra'."

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock asked, frowning as he was distracted by his brother's abrupt comment.

"The merchant who can't outrun Death." Mycroft stated. "You always hated that story as a child." He eyed Sherlock carefully. "Less keen on predestination back then."

Sherlock just pursed his lips and retorted flatly: "I'm not sure I like it now."

He grabbed his coat, while Mycroft mused: "You wrote your own version, as I remember. 'Appointment In Sumatra'. The merchant goes to a different city and is perfectly fine."

"Goodnight, Mycroft." Sherlock retorted, and Mycroft mused casually: "Then he becomes a pirate, for some reason."

"Keep me informed." Sherlock called, ignoring his brother as he walked out of Mycroft's office.

"Of what?" Mycroft countered, and Sherlock replied: "Absolutely no idea."

With that, he walked out of the office, heading back home with a frown and an unreadable look in his eyes, while Mycroft sighed and glanced back down at his notebook, partially covered by his hand.

There in the middle, written in his neat handwriting, were the words:

Victor

Sherri-

* * *

"A bust of Margaret Thatcher?" Marie repeated incredulously, keeping her voice low, and Sherlock nodded.

"Nothing else touched, just the bust was taken." He confirmed just as quietly, and Marie said thoughtfully: "And broken where it could be seen… Why?"

"I don't know." Sherlock answered as he finished buttoning up his pajama top. "It could be anything, but it's definitely something important."

"Since when were you all about omens?" Marie asked, half-joking and half-serious, and Sherlock responded flatly: "Since I discovered I was capable of what you called 'intuition and insight'."

"Would it kill you to say 'love'?" Marie teased, but her light tone disappeared instantly as she stared at Sherlock and asked: "And you think this has something to do with Jim Moriarty's return?"

"It might, or it could be something else entirely." He frowned, settling on the bed at last. "But the only thing to do is wait until there are clearer signs. I just wanted you to know, and be on the alert."

"You don't have to tell me that." Marie sighed as her eyes flickered to the baby cribs in the corner of the room.

Sherlock saw, and he drew Marie close to his side as he murmured: "I won't let anything hurt you, or Scott, or Sheryl. I made you a vow that I would always protect you, and that will always include the twins."

"And I don't doubt you, Sherlock, really I don't." Marie sighed, wrapping her arms around her husband and resting her head on his chest. "But I…"

"You're worried about our pasts catching up to us." Sherlock murmured, trying to keep out the distaste in his tone but Marie heard it anyway.

"Yes." Marie replied quietly, her voice even lower than their already hushed tones. "We weren't exactly the best parent material – and still aren't in many respects."

"You're doing wonderfully." Sherlock reassured. "I know this has been on your mind since before they were born, but you're the best mother Scott and Sheryl could ask for."

"But I can't shake the feeling that it's not over." Marie whispered. "Not that it's a surprise, with constant reminders like Jim's message from beyond the _grave_ -"

"The game is never over." Sherlock reminded her softly. "Not for us – but I _swear_ to you, Marie: I _will_ protect you three. Our… family."

He said the word hesitantly, and causing Marie to finally crack a smile.

"Thanks, Sherlock." She sighed. "But never forget you don't have to do it on your own. Okay?"

"I promised this before." Sherlock pointed out, and Marie answered: "Yeah, but you also drugged me before."

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?" Sherlock muttered, and Marie pressed: "Sherlock. Promise me, you won't ever keep me in the dark again. Because I made a vow to you, too: that I would always be by your side, and protect _you._ "

Sherlock's lips curved up just slightly as he looked down at Marie. Blue eyes met green as he reaffirmed: "I promise."

She relaxed just a little, and Sherlock kissed the top of her head.

"Go to sleep now." He murmured into her hair. "I love you, Marie."

"And I love you too, Sherlock."

* * *

A few days later, Marie sat with Mrs. Hudson for their regular morning tea while the twins sat playing in the two baby chairs the good landlady always kept in her kitchen. She was smiling as Mrs. Hudson cooed and fussed over the babies, when the front door opened and she heard the distinct heavy footsteps of one Scotland Yard Detective Inspector.

"Greg?" She called, and Lestrade paused to peer into Mrs. Hudson's flat.

"Mornin', Marie." He greeted. "Mrs. Hudson, Scottie, Sheryl."

"You here with another case?" Marie asked curiously, noting the bag Lestrade was carrying, and the DI nodded.

"Yeah, I think Sherlock'll like this one." Lestrade stated, and Marie raised a brow.

"I hope so." She warned. "He's been having a trying day, bored out of his mind and on his new 'boring' client of the day; and I heard DI Hopkins going upstairs earlier – I doubt he'll be interested in her case, either."

"Yeah, well, I think he'll like this one." Lestrade replied, gesturing to his bag. "And I think I'm usually good at telling what will get his interest."

"If not, you're always welcome to stop by for tea." Marie smiled, and Lestrade grinned.

"Sherlock's a lucky man to have someone like you, you know." Lestrade complimented, making both Mrs. Hudson and Marie laugh.

"Thanks, Greg, but I think I'm the one who got lucky – despite what you all think." Marie smiled.

"Oh, you're both lucky." Mrs. Hudson interjected. "Lucky you found each other, and lucky to have such beautiful children."

She cooed over Scott again, who waved his fists at her, while Marie laughed and Lestrade smiled.

"Well, I'm heading up." Lestrade stated, waving goodbye to the two women and the babies.

They waved back as Lestrade turned and headed up the stairs to Sherlock's flat, straightening his jacket and smoothing his hair as he readied to go chat – read, 'flirt' - with DI Hopkins while waiting for Sherlock.

* * *

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he heard Lestrade flirting with DI Hopkins outside - and quite badly at that.

Finally deciding he had had it, Sherlock interrupted his client to stride to the flat door, throwing it open as he snapped: "Will you two please keep it down?!"

He slammed the door back shut on the two abashed DIs, turning back to his client as he stated: "Now, you haven't always been in life insurance, have you?"

His client, Mr. Kingsley blinked at him from his seat while Sherlock went on as he settled back in his couch: "You started out in manual labour. Oh, don't bother being astonished."

Mr. Kingsley started, and Sherlock continued: "Your right hand's almost an entire size bigger than your left - hard manual work does that."

"I was a carpenter." Mr. Kingsley confirmed, glancing at his mismatched hands in some amazement that Sherlock had noticed the small detail. "Like me dad."

"You're trying to give up smoking - unsuccessfully - and you once had a Japanese girlfriend that meant a lot to you but now you feel indifferent about." Sherlock added, and Mr. Kingsley blinked again, taken aback.

"How the hell...?" The man began, before he glanced down at his breast pocket and realized: "Ah... e-cigarettes."

"Not just that, ten individual e-cigarettes." Sherlock pointed out flatly. "If you just wanted to smoke indoors, you would've invested in one of those _irritating_ electronic pipe things. But you're convinced you can give up, so you don't want to buy a pipe, because that means you're not serious about quitting. So instead, you buy individual cigarettes, always sure that each will be your last. Anything to add, John?"

Sherlock turned his head to look at John's armchair, and he did a double take at what he saw.

"John?" Sherlock asked, staring at the red balloon with a face drawn on it that currently sat on John's chair, and John replied, leaning around the kitchen doorway: "Uh, yeah, yeah, listening."

"What is that?" Sherlock demanded, still staring wide-eyed at the balloon, and John explained as he walked out with a mug of tea: "That is... me. Well, it's a me-substitute."

Sherlock blinked before he said awkwardly: "Don't be so hard on yourself. You know I value your little contributions."

"Yeah?" John asked, raising a brow. "It's been there since nine this morning."

"Has it?" Sherlock asked in surprise. "Where were you?"

"Helping Mrs. H. with her Sudoku." John answered with a shrug. "Marie was busy looking after the twins... though she did solve all the ones we got stuck on."

Sherlock leaned back, pursing his lips, when Mr. Kingsley interjected curiously: "What about my girlfriend?"

"What?" Sherlock asked, glancing at the man, and Mr. Kingsley remined: "You said I had an ex-"

"You've got a Japanese tattoo in the crook of your elbow in the name 'Akako'." Sherlock replied impatiently. "It's obvious you've tried to have it removed."

Mr. Kingsley glanced down at the faded tattoo in surprise, and he said with some confusion: "But surely that means I want to forget her, not that I'm indifferent."

"If she'd really hurt your feelings, you would've had the word obliterated." Sherlock countered. "But the first attempt wasn't successful, and you haven't tried again, so it seems you can live with the slightly blurred memory of Akako, hence the indifference."

Mr. Kingsley smiled and burst into small giggles as he admitted: "I... I thought you'd done something clever."

Sherlock glanced at him, almost raising a brow as Mr. Kingsley continued with a chuckle: "Ah, now, but now you've explained it, it's dead simple, innit?"

John's lip twitched up into a crooked smile, while Sherlock inhaled deeply through his nose and straightened up, shifting to face Mr. Kingsley fully.

"I've withheld this information from you until now, Mr. Kingsley, but I think it's time you knew the truth." Sherlock stated flatly, and Mr. Kingsley's face changed.

"What do you mean?" He asked, looking a little fearful, and Sherlock asked: "Have you ever wondered if your wife was a little bit out of your league?"

"Well..." Mr. Kingsley began, shrugging, but Sherlock interrupted: "You thought she was having an affair. I'm afraid it's far worse than that, your wife is a spy."

Mr. Kingsley gaped, and he asked faintly: "What?"

"That's right." Sherlock said rapidly. "Her real name is Greta Bengsdotter. Swedish by birth and probably the most dangerous spy in the world. She's been operating deep undercover for the past four years now as your wife, for one reason only, to get near the American Embassy, across the road from your flat."

Mr. Kingsley flinched, but Sherlock didn't even pause as he continued: "Tomorrow the US President will be at the embassy, as part of an official state visit. As the President greets members of staff, Greta Bengsdotter, disguised as a 22-stone cleaner, will inject the President in the back of the neck with a dangerous new drug, hidden inside a secret compartment inside her padded armpit. This drug will render the President entirely susceptible to the will of that new master, none other than James Moriarty."

"What?" Mr. Kingsley gasped, and Sherlock continued to fire away: "Moriarty will then use the President as a pawn to destabilise the United Nations General Assembly, which is due to vote on a nuclear non-proliferation treaty, tipping the balance in favour of a first-strike policy against Russia. This chain of events will then prove unstoppable, thus precipitating World. War. III."

Sherlock finished by punctuating each word at the end of his sentence, and John chuckled.

"Are you serious?" He asked, and Sherlock scoffed as he turned to his friend: "No, of course not. His wife left him because his breath stinks and he likes to wear her lingerie."

Sherlock gave Mr. Kingsley another unimpressed look as he stood up, striding over to the door, while Mr. Kingsley protested: "I don't!"

John raised a brow skeptically, and Mr. Kingsley admitted with a whine: "Just the bras."

"Get out." Sherlock ordered shortly, opening the flat door.

Mr. Kingsley hung his head but did as he was told, and Sherlock slammed the door shut after the man with disgust.

"So," John asked, "what's this all about, then?"

"Having fun." Sherlock replied as he lingered by the door, and John repeated: "Fun?"

"While I can." Sherlock shrugged, and John nodded skeptically: "Mm-hmm."

There was a sharp knock on the door, and Sherlock turned back as it opened to reveal DI Hopkins.

"Uh, Sherlock-" She began as she walked in, but Sherlock interrupted as he forced her physically back out: "Borgia Pearl. Boring. Go!"

"Oh, but-" She protested, but Sherlock just ordered as he slammed the door after her: "Go!"

The door opened again before he even had time to turn away, and Sherlock sighed irritably: "This had better be good."

"Oh, I think you'll like it." Lestrade replied as he pulled out a clear plastic bag from his workbag.

Sherlock stopped immediately, staring intently at the broken pieces of plaster sealed inside the bag, while John said in surprise: "That is the bust, isn't it? The one that was broken."

Sherlock carefully took the bag, examining it intently as Lestrade replied: "No, it's another one, different owner. Different part of town. You were right, this is, this is a thing. Something's going on."

Sherlock didn't move, still staring at the broken Thatcher bust intently, and Lestrade paused mid-grin.

"What's wrong?" He asked, brows furrowing. "I thought you'd be pleased."

"I am pleased." Sherlock replied shortly, and Lestrade pointed out: "You don't look pleased."

"This is my game face." Sherlock replied, finally looking up at Lestrade and his lips curled up into a smirk at last. "And the game is on."


	7. Track

Sherlock sat examining the pieces of plaster under a microscope while Lestrade informed: "Another two have been smashed since the Welsborough one. One belonging to Mr Mohandes Hassan-"

"Identical busts?" John questioned, and Lestrade nodded as he explained: "Yeah, and this one to a Dr Barnicot in Holborn. Three in total. God knows who'd want to do something like this."

He glanced at his watch, while John pointed out: "Yeah, but some people have that complex, don't they? An idée fixe."

He looked at Sherlock pointedly as he continued: "They _obsess_ over one thing and they can't let it go."

"No, no good." Sherlock replied flatly, missing the jibe at himself entirely. "There were other images of Margaret..."

He broke off, raising his eyes as he questioned: "Margaret...?"

"You know who she is." John sighed, and Sherlock finished: "-Thatcher, present at the first break-in."

He picked up a different piece of plaster as he continued: "Why would a monomaniac fixate on just one? Ooh!"

He broke off with an excited exclamation as he stared at the new piece of plaster, and John asked: "What?"

"Blood." Sherlock explained, quickly examining the piece under the microscope. "Quite a bit of it, too."

He looked up at Lestrade, asking: "Was there any injury at the crime scene?"

"Nah." Lestrade replied with a shrug, while glancing at his watch again.

"Then our suspect must have cut themselves breaking the bust." Sherlock mused, before he ordered: "Come on."

He packed up the small piece of plaster with the blood on it, while Lestrade asked in surprise: "Holborn?"

"Lambeth!" Sherlock corrected, and Lestrade repeated incredulously: "Lambeth? Why?"

"To see Toby." Sherlock replied, and John said easily: "Ah, right. Who?"

"You'll see." Sherlock replied mysteriously, and John shrugged: "Right, are you coming?"

He looked over at Lestrade, but Sherlock interrupted before the DI could reply: "No, he's got a lunch date with a brunette forensic officer that he doesn't want to be late for."

"Who told you?" Lestrade asked, staring at Sherlock in shock, and Sherlock answered easily: "The right sleeve of your jacket, plus the formaldehyde mixed with your cologne and your complete inability to stop looking at your watch."

John leaned in to smell Lestrade, realizing Sherlock was right, while Lestrade gaped and Sherlock finished: "Have a good time."

"I will." Lestrade said firmly, glancing around at the other two one more time before he started to leave.

"Trust me, though, she's not right for you." Sherlock added casually as he typed a message in his phone: 'Busy?'

"What?" Lestrade questioned, and Sherlock called louder: "She's not the one."

Lestrade blinked before saying sarcastically: "Well, thank you, Mystic Meg."

He walked out, hurrying away, and John asked Sherlock curiously: "How do you work all that out?"

"She's got three children in Rio that he doesn't know about." Sherlock answered, still texting, and John snorted as he asked: "Are you just making this up?"

"Possibly." Sherlock grinned, before turning and walking out as well.

"Who's Toby?" John called as he hurried after Sherlock.

"Sherlock?" John called when there was no reply, but Sherlock had already bounded down the stairs and into Mrs. Hudson's flat.

"Marie, let's go." He announced, and both women stared at him.

"Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson asked, while Marie asked: "Go, where?"

"To see Toby." Sherlock beamed, and Marie raised a brow.

"You took Lestrade's case?" She questioned, and Sherlock nodded as he added: "And you're coming with us."

She raised her other brow.

"No." Marie stated, and Sherlock whined: "Come on, it'll be fun and it'll do you good to get some fresh air after spending all this time inside with the kids."

"You got that out of a book." Marie pointed out, and Sherlock retorted: "Everyone gets it out of a book."

"Sherlock, we agreed that we wouldn't take the twins out on cases with us." Marie reminded him, and Sherlock pointed out: "I'm not suggesting they come with me, I'm suggesting you come with me."

She gave him a completely unimpressed look, and Sherlock sighed: "Please?"

"Oh, go on, dear." Mrs. Hudson chuckled. "I'll look after the babies, you two go enjoy yourselves on a nice mystery."

"At least you didn't say a murder case." Marie sighed, before she stood up. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, I don't know what I'd do without you."

Mrs. Hudson giggled, while Sherlock beamed as he held out Marie's coat.

"I can't believe I was that predictable to you." Marie sighed as she shrugged on the coat, and Sherlock answered lightly: "Well, you could never resist a good mystery, either, and you've been holed up inside long enough."

"And what makes you so certain I needed a mystery in my life?" Marie teased, and Sherlock grinned back: "Because you married me."

Marie laughed at that as John joined them, and they waved to Mrs. Hudson as they left the flat, Mrs. Hudson waving the twins' hands back with a smile.

"You're coming with us?" John asked as they headed out into the street to catch a cab, and Marie nodded.

"I guess I should stretch my feet once in a while." She admitted, and John nodded as Sherlock caught a cab and opened the door for Marie.

"So, want to explain where we're going?" John asked as they drove off, and Sherlock explained as he tucked one of Marie's hands in his: "There's a kid I know, hacker, brilliant hacker, one of the world's best. Got himself into serious trouble with the Americans a couple of years ago. He hacked into the Pentagon security system, and I managed to get him off the charge. Therefore he owes me a favour."

They arrived outside a nondescript London house, and Sherlock thumped the front knocker.

"So, how does that help us?" John asked, puzzled, and Sherlock asked: "What?"

"Toby the hacker?" He questioned, and Marie chuckled while Sherlock replied: "Toby's not the hacker."

"What?" John asked, frowning in confusion, as the front door opened to reveal an overweight man with frizzy hair and thick-rimmed glasses.

"All right, Craig?" Sherlock asked with a polite smile, and Marie also smiled as Craig greeted: "All right, Sherlock? This the missus, then?"

He nodded at Marie, who greeted politely: "I'm Marie. Pleasure to finally meet you, Craig."

Craig smiled back, while Sherlock explained to John: "Craig's got a dog."

A bloodhound walked out of the house at that moment, sniffing around Sherlock's legs in greeting, while John said flatly: "So I see."

"Good boy!" Sherlock smiled, petting the dog and ignoring John, while Marie knelt down to pet Toby with Sherlock.

"Hiya!" Mary called as she suddenly popped out from behind Craig's door, carrying a baby in a fluffy pink bunny suit.

"Hey, Mary." Marie called, unsurprised, while John stared.

"Mary?" He questioned. "What are you...? No, we, we agreed we would never bring Rosie out on a case."

"No, exactly." Mary beamed as she handed the baby over to John while holding a baby carrier in her other hand. "So... don't wait up. Hey, Marie, Sherlock."

"Hey." Sherlock answered monotonously while Marie stood up to smile and press her face against Rosie's.

"Hello, Rosie." She cooed, and Sherlock rolled his eyes at her while John asked Mary in bewilderment: "Mary, what are you doing here?"

"She's better at this than you." Sherlock informed him bluntly, still bent over Toby as he glanced over at the Watsons.

Marie rolled her eyes while Mary grinned, flattered, and John repeated incredulously: "Better?"

"So I texted her." Sherlock nodded, and John demanded: "Hang on, Mary's better than _me_?"

"Well, she is a retired super-agent with a terrifying skill set." Sherlock pointed out. "Remind you of anyone? Of course she's better."

Both Mary and Marie grinned, while John shrugged in agreement: "Yeah, OK."

"I thought Marie was around for higher intellectual company." John commented, and Sherlock shrugged as he replied: "There's nothing wrong with having another experienced eye around."

"Nothing personal." Sherlock added, and Marie nudged him with her elbow as she walked over to join him.

"What, so I'm supposed to just go home now, am I?" John asked, and Mary smiled as she asked: "Aw, what do you think, Sherlock? Shall we take him with us?"

"John or the dog?" Sherlock joked, and Mary laughed while John said sarcastically: "Ha-ha, that's funny!"

"John." Mary said cheekily, and Marie laughed while Sherlock pretended to think about it: "Well..."

"He's handy and loyal." Mary added, and Marie teased: "And he's got a good nose."

"That's hilarious." John deadpanned, before adding to Mary jokingly: "Is it too early for a divorce?"

"Oh." Mary pouted at John while Marie laughed, and Sherlock called: "Barnicot's house, then."

He took hold of Toby's leash as he asked with a grin at John: "Anyone up for a trudge? Keep up, he's fast."

* * *

The four stood around Toby by the telephone box, Marie and John – who was now carrying Rosie in the baby carrier strapped to his chest – staring down at the bloodhound with frowns while Sherlock stood beside his wife, staring off into the distance. Mary was holding Toby's leash, her lips pursed as she scratched the top of the dog's head hopefully but so far it was for naught.

"He's not moving." John commented at last, and Sherlock replied shortly: "He's thinking."

Toby whined as Mary continued to scratch at his head, and John glanced back down while Marie lifted her head.

John stared at the dog for a moment longer, before he said to Sherlock: "He's _really_ not moving."

"Slow but sure, John, not dissimilar to yourself." Sherlock replied, glancing down at Toby for a moment.

John frowned, and looked back at the dog again, before he asked bluntly: "You just like this dog, don't you?"

"Well, I like _you_." Sherlock retorted, and Mary noted flatly: "He's still not moving."

"Even Scottie crawls faster than this dog." Marie agreed, and John said in surprise: "I thought you said he hadn't started to crawl yet."

"Exactly." Marie said flatly, and they all lapsed into silence once more.

Marie was staring up at the sky, while John frowned down at the dog, Sherlock examined Toby, and Mary once again stared into space with pursed lips.

"Fascinating." Sherlock murmured, and Mary sighed: "Oh!"

* * *

When Toby finally started to move, however, they were kept running at a brisk pace while the dog barked as it sniffed out their mystery bust-breaker's scent.

Marie and Sherlock took the lead, Marie handling Toby when they figured out he liked her the best and went quickest with her. John brought up the rear, carrying Rosie, while Mary alternated with Marie as Toby's second-favourite human lead.

Their path took them all around the area, circling different blocks in seemingly random patterns.

"Well, what do you make of it?" Sherlock asked as they ran down another road, and Mary pointed out: "They were looking for something."

"But it wasn't just a random burglar, they were looking specifically for the Thatcher bust and knew where it was." Marie pointed out.

"And why? Why that Thatcher bust?" Sherlock added in frustration as they ran down another street, and Marie frowned.

"Sherlock, this leads to the Borough Market." She pointed out, and Mary suggested skeptically: "Maybe he was looking for somewhere to lie low…?"

She trailed off as they made their way through the market and Toby led them right to butchery. The dog whined, and Marie sighed as she stared at the enormous pool of blood lying on the ground, with sawdust sprinkled over it to soak, while butchers carried pig carcasses around the area.

The four all stood there, staring in varying degrees of disbelief and admiration.

"Clever." Sherlock admitted, and Marie noted: "Too clever."

"Well, if you were wounded and you knew you were leaving a trail, where would you go?" Mary asked rhetorically, and John sighed: "Like hiding a tree in a forest."

"Or blood in a butcher's." Sherlock muttered before walking forward and crouching before Toby.

"Never mind, Toby," he said as he petted and scratched the dog, "better luck next time, hmm?"

He looked around again as he added to his friends: "This is it, though. This is the one, I can feel it."

"Not Moriarty?" John asked incredulously, but Sherlock argued: "It has to be him."

Marie frowned while Sherlock continued: "It's too bizarre, it's too baroque. It's designed to beguile me, tease me and lure me in. At last, a noose for me to put my neck into."

He walked off, leaving John to stare after him while Mary and Marie exchanged anxious glances.

* * *

"Sherlock."

Sherlock glanced up at Marie as she stood before him.

"Yes?" He questioned.

They'd parted with John and Mary after returning Toby to his owner. Marie was about to head home, wanting to get back to the twins, but she pulled Sherlock aside outside Craig's house to chat quietly.

"Sherlock, it's about this case." Marie said seriously, and Sherlock commented a little dryly: "I'd assume so, given how serious you're looking and the most recent development."

"Sherlock, I'm serious." Marie warned. "I just…"

She took a deep breath before she peered up at him with worried green eyes.

"What you said earlier… about a noose to put your neck into." She said softly, and Sherlock blinked.

He recalled his words as he left the market earlier, and said quickly: "I just meant-"

"I know what you meant." Marie said seriously. "And I understand how you work, but please, just keep in mind that I worry about you."

Sherlock's gaze softened and he reached for her. She came willingly, and Sherlock murmured as he wrapped his arms around her: "I seem to be worrying you a lot lately."

"It's kind of hard not to worry with that mysterious message floating around." Marie sighed, and Sherlock kissed the top of her head softly.

"It'll be fine." He promised. "I told you I knew what we were up against – I'm just waiting for the right time."

She sighed, but nodded, and the pair stood for a brief moment longer before they parted ways for the night.


	8. Six Thatchers

"Have you heard of that thing," Craig questioned, "in Germany?"

Sherlock blinked, before he pointed out: "You're going to have to be more specific, Craig."

"'Ostalgie'." Craig explained, saying the word like it tasted bad in his mouth, even as he continued to type and search on his many computers. "People who miss the old days under the Communists. People are weird, aren't they?"

"Mm." Sherlock hummed noncommittally, his eyes narrowing slightly at the irony of the situation, before he refocused as Craig said: "According to this, there's quite a market for Cold War memorabilia: Thatcher, Reagan, Stalin."

He smiled as he said sarcastically: "Time's a great leveller, innit? Thatcher's like, I dunno, Napoleon now."

"Yes, fascinating, irrelevant." Sherlock said impatiently, leaning over Craig to stare at the screens himself. "Where exactly did they come from?"

"I've got into the records of the suppliers…" Craig replied as he finally traced back all the data. "Gelder & Co.? Seems they're from Georgia."

"Where exactly?" Sherlock questioned, and Craig answered: "Uh, Tbilisi. Batch of… six."

Sherlock straightened up, thinking quickly, while Craig read off: "One to Welsborough; one to Hassan; one to Doctor Barnicot. _Two_ to Miss Orrie Harker-"

Sherlock's phone started to ring, and he quickly reached for it in his coat pocket while Craig finished off: "- One to a Mr Jack Sandeford of Reading."

Sherlock swiftly answered his phone, asking: "Lestrade, another one?"

"Yeah." The DI replied, sounding tired, and Sherlock questioned instantly: "Harker or Sandeford?"

There was a pause from Lestrade's side, clearly from surprise, before the DI replied with a sigh: "Harker. And it's murder this time."

"Hm, that perks things up a bit." Sherlock retorted, glancing once more at the records on Cragi's screen and noting the two that had been sent to Miss Harker's address before he turned and walked out.

* * *

 _221B Baker Street_

Marie smiled as Sheryl crawled – or rather 'wiggled', as Sherlock called it - across the floor towards her, and she exclaimed enthusiastically: "Well done, _ma Chérie_."

The sound of the front door opening downstairs made her pause for a split-second before her smile returned to her face as she scooped up her happy daughter into her arms. Marie carried the baby across the living room as she heard the soft tread coming up the stairs, and she'd just set Sheryl in the collapsible play den with her brother when a knock sounded on the flat door.

"Come in," Marie called as she turned to face the door, "Mycroft."

The door swung open to reveal the aloof, though slightly irritated, Holmes brother, and Mycroft greeted politely but coolly: "Marie."

"Would you like to sit down?" Marie asked, equally coldly, as she walked towards the kitchen. "Unless you'd like to say hello to your niece and nephew?"

"Oh, yes." Mycroft said a tad sarcastically as he glanced at the twins, who were staring up at the stranger curiously with bright intelligent eyes.

His gaze softened for a brief moment, so quick it was only a flash across his face, before he turned away and settled in John's armchair while Marie brought the teapot off the stove.

"I'm afraid we don't have biscuits." Marie said casually as she carried in two cups of tea, and Mycroft replied smugly: "That's quite all right - I don't take any."

"I know." Marie said lightly, wiping the smirk off Mycroft's face as she set his cup down on the table by his elbow. "How's the diet going, brother dear?"

"Fine." Mycroft answered, eyes narrowing at Marie, but she wasn't even fazed as she settled in Sherlock's seat and sipped her own tea. "I see your artistic sense has finally had an opportunity to be let loose."

He nodded at the children's play den, which Marie had personally painted with colourful swirls and patterns.

"Oh, yes." Marie smiled, nodding fondly at the den. "It was fun, and keeps the twins entertained; they were rather unimpressed with the dull blue and white original design."

"Pleasant, then, to be able to use your hobby for something other than decorating a dead man to have a passing resemblance to my brother's corpse?" Mycroft asked with an insincere smile, and Marie returned alike: "Yes, it was wonderful to be able to use colours other than red."

Mycroft chuckled as he sipped his tea, and Marie also smiled.

"It's been a while since we've spoken." Marie noted amusedly. "Though we've texted a few times and had passing encounters, I do believe the last time we spoke properly was when you handed me by retirement."

"Yes." Mycroft agreed with a raised brow. "And I would say I've missed this," he indicated their current positions across from each other, "but then it would be a lie."

"Ah, such a shame." Marie said lightly, concealing a smile. "And I would say that hurts me… but then, that would be a lie, too."

Mycroft smirked slightly, before he glanced to the side at the twins as they – having decided the stranger was neither dangerous nor interesting – started to grab and play with their various toys in the play den, Sheryl waving a plastic ring around while Scottie sucked on a plastic ball.

"They're gorgeous, aren't they?" Marie teased, laughing at the flash of disgust that crossed Mycroft's face. "Your parents loved them, the one time we went to see them, about two months ago."

"They aren't the worst I've seen." He acknowledged, and Marie said cheekily: "They're clever, too. Sherlock's particularly proud of that."

"I should hope they were." Mycroft said dryly. "Given the gene pool they were working with."

"Would it really kill you to say one nice thing about your brother's children?" Marie mock pouted, and Mycroft replied flatly: "You know I dislike them."

"You don't know if they're 'goldfish' yet." Marie pointed out, nodding at the twins, and Mycroft countered: "Yes, but if Sherlock seems slow to me, you can imagine what I think of babies, who are incapable of speech."

It was at that moment, of course, that they were interrupted.

"Ma."

Mycroft blinked while Marie froze, her teacup still held halfway to her mouth.

"Dada."

Mycroft raised a brow while Marie whipped her head around, her eyes wide as she stared at Sheryl, and then Scottie.

"Did you just say…" She began, and Sheryl repeated: "Da."

"Mamama." Scottie mumbled in response, and a wide smile broke out over Marie's face.

Tea forgotten, she left Mycroft to observe from his chair as she hurried to her children, hugging them both as she cooed: "That's right, here's mama, and your dada will be home soon."

"I wouldn't count on it." Mycroft commented dryly, and she shushed lightly: "Oh, shut up, they don't have to know that."

"Da." Sheryl said, and Marie muttered: "Of course, you would say 'dada' first – at least Scottie knows his mama."

"Is it really worth getting that worked up over a simple 'da' and 'ma'?" Mycroft sniffed. "It's not even like they said 'daddy' or 'mummy'."

"You try carrying a baby for nine months, and then raising them for another six after that." Marie retorted. "You'd learn that each moment is precious. But then again, you and I know that all too well already, don't we, Mycroft?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes, while Marie continued to fawn over her children as they mumbled.

* * *

 _In a cab, London streets_

Sherlock searched new articles on his phone as he sat in the cab, on his way to see Lestrade at Miss Harker's. He searched information about the 'BLACK PEARL MYSTERY' first, before narrowing the search to 'INTERPOL'.

He frowned as he read the various investigations, all starting from the pearl's theft from a secure vault… in Georgia. He pursed his lips, mentally berating himself for overlooking something that had been thrust into his face on multiple occasions, when his phone rang.

Glancing down, Sherlock frowned as he saw the caller ID before answering quickly and with a hint of concern: "Marie?"

"Hang on." Marie answered, and Sherlock's frown deepened as he heard shuffling from her end of the conversation.

"Come on, _ma chérie_ , go on." He heard her whisper, and then a voice mumbled into the phone: "Dada."

Sherlock blinked, his heart skipping just one beat, and he asked: "What?"

"Dada. Dada." Sheryl mumbled into the phone, and then Marie was back as she asked excitedly: "Did you hear that?"

"I heard it." Sherlock confirmed, and he could _see_ Marie's brilliant smile in his mind's eye as she asked: "And?"

"She called me." Sherlock murmured, still mostly in shock. He'd heard about the incredible feeling of hearing your child speak for the first time, but this…

"Hang on, here's Scottie." Marie added, and her comment was followed by another shuffle before Scottie's voice mumbled into the phone: "Mama. Ma."

"Of course he'd call you first." Sherlock sighed, and Marie laughed: "Chérie called her daddy first."

"And Scott's a mama's boy." Sherlock sniffed, but he couldn't quite conceal his delight as he kept a small smile on his face.

"Of course he is." Marie replied. "He's your son."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose at her implication, and Marie laughed again as though she knew what his reaction had been (which she probably did). She added: "Well, I just thought you should know and hear them for yourself. I'll let you concentrate on that case of yours now. Any progress?"

"Maybe." Sherlock replied, declining to mention his latest theory. He'd confirm it first, before he worried her. "I'll be late, tonight."

"All right, as long as you come back, mister." Marie answered lightly, but he heard the worry she couldn't quite conceal.

"I'll always come back." Sherlock promised, before he hung up and stared thoughtfully out of the cab window as he drove through the London streets.

* * *

"Defensive wounds on her face and hands." Lestrade listed as he walked with Sherlock onto the scene of the crime. "Throat cut – sharp blade."

Sherlock's eyes roamed over the garden, where the forensic investigators were photographing the body lying in the centre. The woman, Miss Harker, was lying face down in the ground, dressed in her sleepwear and dressing gown, and her slippers had even fallen off on one side of the body from where she'd evidently been attacked.

"The same thing inside the house? The bust?" Sherlock questioned, and Lestrade confirmed: "Two of them this time."

"Interesting." Sherlock commented as he and Lestrade stopped beside the body. "That batch of statues was made in Tbilisi several years ago – limited edition of six."

"And now someone's wandering about destroying 'em all." Lestrade sighed. "Makes no sense. What's the point?"

"No, they're not destroying them. That's not what's happening." Sherlock dismissed, and Lestrade stared at the younger man as he protested: "Yes it is."

"Well, it _is_ what's happening, but it's not the point." Sherlock snapped, more scolding himself than irritated with the older man. "I've been slow; far too slow."

"Well, I'm _still_ being slow over here," Lestrade said impatiently, "so if you wouldn't mind-"

"Slow but lucky; _very_ lucky." Sherlock murmured. "And since they smashed both busts, our luck might just hold."

Lestrade stared at him in confusion, but Sherlock ignored the look as he simply informed the other man: "Jack Sandeford of Reading is where I'm going next. Congratulations, by the way."

"I'm sorry?" Lestrade asked, and Sherlock smirked: "Well, you're about to solve a big one."

Sherlock turned and walked away, while Lestrade turned back to the body as he said waspishly: "Yeah, until John publishes his blog."

"Yeah." Sherlock called over his shoulder. "'Til then, basically."

* * *

 _Meanwhile at Baker Street_

"So, would you mind telling me what this is really about?" Mycroft asked as Marie hung up her phone after letting Sherlock hear his children's first words and carefully placed Scottie back in the play den.

"You can't just deduce the reason I called you?" Marie teased lightly, and Mycroft arched a brow as he stared at his sister-in-law.

"It's about Sherlock." He stated, and Marie explained shortly: "It's more _for_ Sherlock, than about him."

"And that is…?" He asked a tad irritably, and Marie settled down in her chair once more.

"I need to call in a favour." Marie informed the elder Holmes brother, and Mycroft's eyebrows shot up.

"And why would I do that?" He questioned, his voice neutral though his eyes were sharp and focused carefully on her.

"You've read my file." Marie said calmly, and Mycroft raised his brow again at her curious shift in the conversation.

"Of course." He stated, deciding to go along with her. "It wasn't too difficult to pull everything together after you provided us with your real name… and your aliases."

"So you know exactly what I'm capable of." Marie continued, and Mycroft pointed out: "I wouldn't have kept you hired under the British Government if I didn't."

"So you know that when I say that I feel that I'm reaching out of my depth, it's not something to take lightly." Marie stated, and Mycroft's brow furrowed just slightly.

"What is your request?" He asked, examining her carefully, and Marie took a deep breath before she answered his question.

Her response made Mycroft's eyebrow arch even higher than before, and a slight note of disbelief entered his eyes, even though he controlled the rest of his reaction to her surprising entreaty.

* * *

 _Sandeford Home_

A man walked into the kitchenette-living room, wrapped up in his dressing gown and carrying a towel over one arm. He passed a small table, which displayed a few items of the man's greatest achievements: a framed photograph of the man holding a trophy, a different trophy of a man swinging a golf club, and a white plaster bust of Margaret Thatcher.

Walking across the room, he could see the little girl swimming in the indoor pool through the floor-to-ceiling glass window that separated the indoor pool from the rest of the room.

With a smile, Mr. Sandeford entered through the open door and called fondly: "That's enough now, love."

He walked over to the side, which housed a small Jacuzzi just to the corner of the main pool. Beside each side of the Jacuzzi were two silver taps, pouring thin sheets of water into the main pool; Sandeford leant down and passed his hand over the photoelectric sensor, stopping the water flow.

"Daddy has things to do, I'm afraid." He called, and his young daughter swam up to the ladder at the side of the pool.

Sandeford walked to meet her as she climbed up, and he added fondly: "And you need to get to bed! Come on!"

His daughter pulled herself up, and Sandeford wrapped the towel he'd been carrying around her. Together, they walked out of the pool room, Sandeford closing the door and shutting off the lights by swiping his hand on the sensor on the wall.

They walked away, heading deeper into the house, just as a shadow appeared in the pool room. The tall figure, wrapped in a long coat and with a curly mop of hair, stood at the glass wall, looking into the living room.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose slightly as he watched the man and his daughter leave the room, but he didn't curl his lip as he used to when faced with loving familial gestures. Instead, his mind wandered briefly to his own children, who would be currently getting ready to be put to bed, while his wife presided over them.

With a soft sigh, Sherlock glanced at the Thatcher bust, barely visible in the dark, once more before he slid out of view once more, settling down to wait.


	9. Link?

Three hours later, Sherlock's patience was rewarded. Just as the clock passed ten o'clock, the back door creaked open and a shadowy figure crept into the living room, carrying a thick duffel bag and making swiftly for the Thatcher bust.

Just as the figure grabbed the bust, Sherlock switched on the lights, alerting the intruder to his presence as he asked: "It would be much simpler to take out your grievances at the polling station."

The masked figure turned instantly, a gun already raised in his hand while he stuffed the bust into the bag. Sherlock reacted swiftly, grabbing the gun with both hands and pulling it harshly while hitting the other man's wrist to force him to let go.

The other man reacted by swinging his heavy duffel bag at Sherlock, but Sherlock blocked it instantly, and shoved it off, causing the bag to fall harmlessly to the ground. Sherlock quickly threw in a punch at the man's exposed face, but the man retaliated with a quick elbow jab to Sherlock's face.

Sherlock blocked the next punch but missed the one after that – and he winced slightly as the punch landed squarely on his cheek and eye. Ignoring the throbbing that indicated he was definitely going to have a bruise, Sherlock threw a few quick, sharp punches back at his assailant.

The man was good, clearly highly trained, and Sherlock barely managed to land one solid punch after four blocks. He quickly used his advantage to land another two punches to the man's stomach, adding a kick to the man's shin for good measure.

The man grabbed a nearby bar stool and swung it to hit Sherlock's side, but Sherlock allowed it to fall carelessly to the side as he threw another punch. The man grabbed him, and Sherlock grabbed the man's arms to prevent the man from gaining an advantage.

Unfortunately, the man retaliated by throwing his head forward and head-butting Sherlock, hard, and causing him to drop the gun. Sherlock blinked, dazed, and the man quickly used the moment to grab Sherlock by the head and shove him down onto a wooden cutting board left on the kitchen bar.

He used his leverage on Sherlock's hair to smash Sherlock's head into the board a few times, before Sherlock managed to regain enough control to throw in a surprise punch to the man's stomach. The man doubled over, and Sherlock used the moment to quickly pull off the other man's balaclava.

A man, perhaps mid-thirties and of Indian heritage, glared back at Sherlock. He looked worse-off, Sherlock noted, indicating that while he was clearly highly trained – Sherlock guessed as a mercenary of sorts – he wasn't making much if anything.

 _Odd for his skill set._ Sherlock thought briefly. _But perhaps not, if he lost what I think he did._

"You were on the run." Sherlock said aloud as he stared at the other man intently as intently as the man was staring at him. "Nowhere to hide your precious cargo."

He threw in a quick kick to the other man's knee, causing him to grunt. The other man growled and kicked back, but Sherlock backed neatly out of reach.

The other man mimicked his movements, and the two men circled each other as Sherlock continued: "You find yourself in a workshop. Plaster busts of The Iron Lady drying. Clever, very clever."

His voice then turned darker as he added: "But now you've met me, and you're not so clever, are you?"

"Who are you?" The man demanded, and Sherlock answered firmly: "My name is Sherlock Holmes."

The man's jaw tightened and he said darkly: "Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes."

With a roar, he charged Sherlock, who braced himself for impact. But the other man simply tackled him and, using his momentum, threw them both through the glass wall of the pool room. The glass shattered with an ear-piercing crash, and the two men fell with a large splash into the indoor pool on the other side.

* * *

 _At 221B Baker Street, three hours earlier_

"And why," Mycroft asked at last as he stared at Marie, "do you ask for this?"

"Because of the people in this world," Marie replied calmly, "only two people know the full truth of my past. And therefore, I can only trust you with this request."

"You don't trust Sherlock?" Mycroft asked, raising a brow and Marie shook her head.

"He's too emotional." She answered softly. "You know that, Mycroft. The advantage is that he can therefore love-"

"Not something I would call an advantage." Mycroft noted dryly, but Marie ignored him as she continued: "But the disadvantage is that it makes him vulnerable in ways you are not."

"Thank you-" Mycroft began, and Marie interjected flatly: "Though I still don't think you're _that_ clever; certainly not as clever as Sherlock believes you to be."

Mycroft frowned at that.

* * *

 _At Sandeford's house_

Sherlock struggled against the other man as they fought in the water, the man trying to keep Sherlock underwater. Sherlock punched the man in the stomach, forcing him to release his breath and the man yelled into the water before he let Sherlock go.

Sherlock hastily rose up out of the pool to breathe, the other man following suit instantly. As Sherlock gulped a large breath, the other man grabbed him by the throat, strangling him while Sherlock tried to fight him.

They fell back into the water, the other man pushing Sherlock down deeper while keeping his hands locked around Sherlock's throat, and Sherlock tried desperately to push the other man away. He finally managed to loosen the other man's grasp enough to pull himself back out of the water, both men fighting for air and against each other as they struggled to get the upper hand.

Sherlock maneuvered himself slightly to get a stronger hold on the other man's shirt, and quickly pressed his advantage – this time, he shoved the other man down into the water, trying to make the other man lose consciousness.

Unfortunately, the other man fought back and managed to resurface, breathing in deeply while Sherlock struggled to maintain his advantage. The pair exchanged blows and struggled some more, when the other man spotted something and shoved Sherlock to the side.

Losing his balance, Sherlock stumbled; the other man swiftly used that moment's opening to thrust Sherlock to the side of the pool and, before Sherlock could recover, he shoved Sherlock's head into the Jacuzzi.

Sherlock almost choked, but held his breath desperately, when the machine whirred. His eyes widened as the Jacuzzi came to life, the water spinning and bubbling thanks to the other man switching the machine on.

Sherlock fought to keep his breath while he floundered, trying to shove the other man off of him. Sherlock's assailant fought to keep Sherlock down, using his whole body weight to maintain his leverage.

Sherlock finally managed to pull his head just enough out of the water to breathe, and he glanced to the side as he gasped for air. Quickly reaching out his hand, Sherlock swiped his hand over the photoelectric sensor, switching on the pool tap.

The other man's grip slackened just briefly in surprise, and Sherlock instantly used the moment to thrust his head back and head-butt the other man sharply. He spun around quickly to punch the other man a few times as well, throwing the man off and away before he grabbed the other man in a tight chokehold.

Just as the man started to choke, he shoved Sherlock away, and Sherlock quickly swam to the edge of the pool while the other man fought to get his breath back. The man quickly regained his composure and followed Sherlock out as Sherlock scrambled up the side of the pool. Ignoring the broken window glass, and dashed back into the living room.

* * *

 _Back at Baker Street_

"So why trust me, then?" Mycroft asked, looking at Marie from over his clasped fingers as he leaned forward on his arms.

"Because you care as much for Sherlock as I do." Marie said softly. "And I know you would do what you need to, to protect him… even from me."

Mycroft raised a brow and he murmured: "So, that's what this is about."

* * *

 _At Sandeford's house_

Sherlock ran for the dropped duffel bag, grabbing the Thatcher bust that had been hastily thrown inside, and as his assailant came charging at him from behind, he turned around and whacked the man in the head with the heavy bust.

The man went crashing down the side of the kitchen bar, landing heavily as Sherlock breathed heavily and stood upright, saying: "You're out of time. Tell me about your boss, Moriarty."

"Who?" The man asked, frowning, as he looked up at Sherlock from his place on the ground.

"I know it's him." Sherlock said impatiently. "It must be him."

The man's eyes narrowed, and he murmured: "You think you understand. You understand nothing."

"Well, before the police come in and spoil things," Sherlock said sarcastically, "why don't we just enjoy the moment?"

He smiled humourlessly as he stated while lifting the Thatcher bust: "Let me present Interpol's number one case. Too tough for them, too boring for me."

Sherlock threw the bust, and the other man flinched away in surprise, but the bust landed harmlessly on the ground where it smashed to pieces.

"The Black Pearl of the Borgias." Sherlock stated, staring down the other man before he glanced down at the broken bust.

* * *

 _At Baker Street_

"Very well." Mycroft said at last, staring at Marie intently. "I shall accept to your request."

Marie rolled her eyes as she said dryly: "You'd think I'd asked you something incredibly difficult from the way you responded."

Mycroft simply gave her a look as he answered simply: "You did."

* * *

 _At Sandeford's house_

Sherlock stared at the object that had been revealed from inside the Thatcher bust, lying among the broken pieces of plaster.

His eyes were wide and his brows knitted as he slowly reached for the memory stick with the familiar letters written on it: A.G.R.A.

"It's not possible." He whispered in shock as he read the words written across the stainless steel casing. "How could she...?"

He fell to his knees as he reached out to grab the memory stick, picking it up in shock. It was identical, in every single way, to the one he and his then girlfriend Marie, and John, had seen that fateful night at Baker Street when Mary had finally come clean about who she was.

 _"Everything about who I was is on there." Mary said as she placed the memory stick down on the table beside John's armchair._

But, it couldn't be here.

 _"The problems of your past are your business." John told Mary firmly. "The problems of your future... are my privilege."_

 _And he threw the memory stick into the flames of the Holmes residence's living room fireplace._

Sherlock blinked, his mind floundering, and he was so distracted he missed his opponent reaching for the fallen gun beside the kitchen bar as Sherlock muttered: "I don't understand. She... She destroyed it.""

"She?"

Sherlock didn't even look up, still stunned at the unexpected turn of events, as his assailant questioned him.

The other man stared at Sherlock, noting the way he was holding the memory stick, and his face crinkled in anger as he spat, raising his gun: "You know her. You do, don't you? You know the bitch!"

Sherlock looked up then, staring at the other man as he snarled: "She betrayed me. Betrayed us all."

"Mary." Sherlock murmured, still dazed, as police sirens sounded outside. "This is about Mary?"

"Is that what she's calling herself now, eh?" The other man questioned darkly, and Sherlock just stared back at the man while Lestrade's voice sounded from over a horn loudspeaker: "Armed police, you're surrounded!"

Sherlock barely even registered Lestrade's voice, still staring at the other man as he hissed, eyes filled with angry tears as he held his gun out menacingly: "Give it to me."

He slowly got to his feet, Sherlock doing the same as he started to refocus. As it became apparent that Sherlock wasn't about to submit to his request, the man yelled angrily: "Give it to me!"

"Come out slowly, I want to see your hands above your head." Lestrade's voice called from outside, while Sherlock didn't even flinch as he stared at the other man with ice-cold blue eyes.

"Nobody shoots me!" The man yelled back. "Anyone shoots, I kill this man!"

"Lay down your weapon. Do it now!" Lestrade shouted from outside, but the man pointed out: "You're policemen, I'm a professional."

His eyes narrowed suddenly as another gun clicked and a shadowy figure appeared behind Sherlock. Sherlock also tensed as he felt the presence behind him, while the other man's eyes darted between Sherlock and the newcomer.

"Shoot him and I promise you, you will miss and you will end up with a bullet in your heart... if you have one." Marie promised darkly, her gun pointed steadily at the other man's chest.

Sherlock didn't look back, though his shoulders were tight with tension, while the other man's dark eyes narrowed as he stared into Marie's cold green ones.

"Who are you?" He hissed, and Marie replied flatly: "You don't need to know."

"Tell me!" He yelled, but Marie was unmoved as she simply kept her gun trained on the man.

"Lay down your weapon!" Lestrade shouted from outside, and the man shouted back though his eyes were trained on Marie: "I'm leaving this place. If no-one follows me, no-one dies."

The man stared Marie down for a second longer before his eyes flickered back to Sherlock.

"Tell _her_ \- that bitch." He snarled. "Tell her she's a dead woman. She's a dead woman walking."

"She's our friend." Sherlock replied quietly and darkly. "And she's under _my_ protection. Who are you?"

The man hesitated before his eyes flickered over to Marie and then back to Sherlock as he answered: "I'm the man who's going to kill your friend. Who's Sherlock Holmes?"

Marie's eyes narrowed, but Sherlock answered flatly: "Not a policeman."

The man seemed to pause, and Marie saw his eyes dart away. She quickly ducked as the mysterious man fired his gun, the bullet whizzing over her and hitting the light sensor switch behind. Marie fired a shot in his direction as the man fled, but she heard it miss as he ducked, clearly having expected the shot.

Marie slowly straightened up, staring after the disappearing shadow as the room was thrown into darkness while the house alarms blared, but Sherlock didn't move as he stared after the man while Marie slowly walked over to him.

"Should I follow him?" She questioned quietly, but Sherlock shook his head.

"No." He answered. "He knew Mary; said she betrayed him."

Sherlock looked down at the memory stick in his hand. His eyes narrowed, and he murmured: "We need to talk to Mary."

"Okay." Marie answered, before she punched Sherlock on the arm.

"What was that for?" He complained, wincing as he rubbed his arm – she hadn't exactly been holding back on her hit.

"What was this?" She demanded. "Greg phoned me to let me know they had a police call at the house you'd said you would be at, and that there had been sounds of fighting."

"Well, I had it under control." Sherlock muttered. "I just… got distracted."

His fingers brushed over the memory stick as he spoke, and Marie glanced at it.

"That's what that guy wanted, right?" She asked curiously. "What...? Oh."

She fell silent as she saw the familiar letters.

"Yes." Sherlock agreed. "Oh."


	10. AGRA

Sherlock sat in his thinking position in their flat as Marie silently tended to the bruises on his face.

He'd skimmed through the memory stick before lapsing into thought, and Marie had let him as she simply pressed ice and smoothed ointments onto his bruises. Sherlock vaguely noted that Marie seemed very unhappy about his decision, but as she stayed silent on the matter he didn't press it either, taking her silence as a grudging agreement.

As Marie finished, he stood up, picking up the memory stick he'd been fiddling with as he went, when Marie finally touched his arm. He looked at her instantly, his attention trained on her as she looked up at him seriously.

"Sherlock, be careful with this one." Marie warned him softly. "AGRA was infamous, back in their day. Jim even considered hiring them at one point, they were _that_ good."

Sherlock nodded slowly, but he noted: "You're not just worried about my safety."

Marie stiffened in surprise that Sherlock had noticed, and his lips twitched in a sheepish smile. Finally, he'd managed to surprise her, though the trick had been simple. Her eyes had been filled with an uncertainty quite unlike the strong woman he knew, and they had betrayed her to him.

"What is it?" Sherlock questioned, and Marie exhaled sharply.

"It's him." She gestured at the memory stick unnecessarily as she continued: "Ajay."

"What about him?" Sherlock asked curiously, and Marie said in a low voice: "He's like that video of Moriarty – proof that we can never outrun our pasts. And that…"

She trailed off, but Sherlock understood exactly what she was feeling. Her eyes had flickered to the back, to their room where their children currently slept peacefully, unaware of the battles their parents were facing.

Sherlock gently took Marie into his arms, pulling her in close though he kept enough distance that he could maintain eye contact with her as he promised softly: "Nothing will come back to harm you; I promise."

Marie stared at him, her eyes unreadable as Sherlock said softly: "I vowed I'd look after you, and that includes our family now. Just as it includes John, Mary, and their baby."

Marie continued to stare at him, almost unnerving him though he met her gaze earnestly.

Finally, she sighed and she asked softly, a hint of something akin to sorrow in her voice: "How can you be you, clever, sharp, consulting detective Sherlock Holmes… and yet still be so naïve?"

Sherlock frowned at that, but before he could ask, they heard the front door open downstairs and hasty footsteps bounding up the stairs. Marie released Sherlock, stepping back, and he sent her one last frown before turning as the flat door opened and Lestrade burst inside.

"Well?" Sherlock demanded, immediately cutting to the chase and interrupting whatever Lestrade had been about to say.

Lestrade shook his head regretfully, adding hopefully: "He can't have got far. We'll have him in a bit."

Marie shook her head while Sherlock replied simply, switching on his phone: "I very much doubt it."

"Why?" Lestrade asked, frowning as he glanced between Sherlock as the man texted something quickly, and Marie who's brows had knitted anxiously.

"Because I think he used to work with Mary." Sherlock told Lestrade as he sent his text and met Marie's gaze.

She nodded, and Sherlock's eyes tightened with determination as he nodded back at her once before he swept out the door, heading swiftly away. And Marie's face filled with worry once more as she glanced back to where her children slept, anxiety filling the pit in her stomach as she clutched her left hand, holding her wedding ring close to her heart.

* * *

Mary hurried through the thunderstorm, using a flashlight as a guide through the dark, dreary night, towards the derelict church Sherlock had texted her about. Immediately noting his sign – a spray-painted 'i' inside a white circle – underneath the already existing graffiti, she pushed a heavy side door and scurried indoors.

As Mary stepped into the small, dimly lit vault, pulling down her wet hood, Sherlock's voice murmured: "I am an idiot, I know nothing."

He stepped out from the shadows at the far side of the room and Mary shrugged as she replied: "Well, I've been telling you that for ages. Told you, you should listen to Marie more often, hey?"

She smiled as she teased him, keeping things light though she couldn't shake her worry as she added a little more seriously: "That was quite a text you sent me. What's going on, Sherlock?"

"I was so convinced it was Moriarty, I couldn't see what was right under my nose." Sherlock answered flatly, causing Mary to frown. "Expected a _pearl_."

He looked down to his hand, which was thumbing the memory stick, and Mary's jaw went slack with shock.

"Oh, my God." Mary said, stunned. "That's a..."

She stepped forward, staring at it in disbelief while Sherlock agreed quietly: "Yes, it's an AGRA memory stick, like you gave John, except this one belongs to someone else. Who?"

He stared at Mary, but she was baffled as she admitted: "I don't know. We, we all had one but the others were..."

She shook her head as she demanded: "Haven't you even looked at it yet?"

"I glanced at it but I prefer to hear it from you." Sherlock returned, his eyes still narrowed on Mary, who demanded: "Why?"

Sherlock leveled a measured look at her, before he answered calmly: "Because I'll know the truth when I hear it."

Mary scoffed, turning away from him sharply at that, and she stalked away, pacing, but she stopped when Sherlock said quietly: "Mary, I need to know for Marie's sake as well. She knew AGRA, or at least of it."

Mary took a deep breath, exhaling sharply but she did turn back to face Sherlock. Her face was grave as she told him grimly: "There were four of us. Agents."

"Not just agents." Sherlock pointed out, looking at Mary, and she scowled as she answered: "Polite term; you would know."

Sherlock nodded once to concede her point, and Mary moved on with her story.

"Alex. Gabriel." She lowered her eyes briefly to the memory stick. "Me. And Ajay."

Sherlock bent his head once more, thumbing the memory stick as he listened while Mary explained: "There was absolute trust between us. The memory sticks guaranteed it."

He glanced up at that, as Mary admitted: "We all had one. Each containing aliases, our background, everything. We could never be betrayed, because we had everything we needed to destroy the other."

"Who employed you?" Sherlock questioned, and Mary shrugged as she answered: "Anyone who paid well."

Sherlock raised a brow at that, but Mary was unrepentant as she went on: "I mean, we were at the top of our game for years. And then it all ended."

Her eyes were tinged with a slight sadness as she informed Sherlock brusquely, almost formally: "There was a coup in Georgia. The British Embassy in Tbilisi was taken over, lots of hostages. We got the call to go in, get them out. There was a…" she sighed, "change of plan, a last-minute adjustment."

"Who from?" Sherlock asked instantly, but Mary shrugged as she answered: "I don't know, just another voice on the phone."

She paused, taking a deep breath, before she added: "And a codeword. Ammo."

"Ammo?" Sherlock repeated, brows furrowing, and Mary shrugged as she said: "Like ammunition."

Sherlock pursed his lips, but let Mary finish as she said: "We went in, but then something went wrong. Something went really wrong."

She took a deep breath as she remembered that awful day, the screaming, the gunfire. And running, running as she'd never run before, running for her life.

"That was six years ago." Mary finished flatly. "It feels like forever. I was the only one that made it out."

"No." Sherlock contradicted, moving to a laptop he'd left on one of the desks inside the vault, while Mary frowned.

"What?" She asked, and Sherlock explained as he inserted the memory stick: "I met someone tonight."

He quickly pulling up the relevant file on the laptop as he told Mary: "Same someone who's looking for the sixth Thatcher."

He turned the screen to show Mary the file on the man that he'd fought earlier that night, the man that had almost killed him… and who also seen Marie.

Mary came forward, gasping as she saw the picture, and she whispered: "Oh, my God, that's Ajay, that's him. What, he's alive?"

She leaned into the laptop, almost grasping it desperately as hope threatened her, while Sherlock grimaced, touching his bruised cheek as he muttered: "Yeah, very much so."

"I don't believe it, this is amazing!" Mary whispered longingly. "I thought I was the only one, I thought I was the only one who got out. Where is he?"

She turned to Sherlock, demanding desperately: "I need to see him, now!"

But Sherlock just gave her a firm look as he asked grimly: "Before you gave it to John, did you keep your memory stick safe?"

"Yeah, of course." Mary answered, frowning at Sherlock's question. "It was our insurance. Above all, they mustn't fall into enemy hands."

"So Ajay survived as well." Sherlock said softly, his tone more gentle as he tried to get Mary to see what she'd missed in her delight at finding her friend still alive. "And now he's looking for the memory stick he managed to hide, with all of AGRA's old aliases on it, but why?"

"I don't know." Mary answered, her confusion clearly truthful, and that hurt Sherlock, knowing he was the one that would have to break the real truth to her.

"Tbilisi was six years ago, where's he been?" Sherlock prompted gently, and Mary blinked, confused

Sherlock steeled himself and he finally said firmly but not unkindly: "Mary, I'm sorry to tell you this, but he wants you dead."

Mary laughed, disbelieving, and she answered determinedly: "Sorry, no, no, because we... we were family."

"Families fall out." Sherlock countered softly.

Mary's smile fell, and Sherlock pressed, needing Mary to understand: "The memory stick is the easiest way to track you down. You're the only other survivor, it must be you that he wants, and he's already killed looking for the Thatcher bust."

"Well, he's just trying to find me." Mary argued, but Sherlock could see the seeds of doubt and worry, even as Mary tried to say firmly: "He survived, that's all that matters!"

"I heard it from his own mouth." Sherlock interrupted, staring at Mary seriously. "Marie and I both did. He told us, 'Tell her she's a dead woman walking'."

He gazed down pityingly at Mary as her face fell, all sign of hope gone as she finally accepted the only possible truth. She swallowed, before asking in a voice that held the faintest tremor: "Why would he want to kill me?"

Sherlock took a deep breath before he informed her: "He said you betrayed him."

"Oh, no, no, that's insane." Mary said sharply, turning away, but her gaze fell on the file still open on the laptop.

She stared at her former partner, her former best friend, her _brother_ , and her jaw clenched even as her eyes filled with sorrow and confusion. Sherlock read all of her emotions easily, and he said gently: "Well, it's what he believes."

Mary stared at the screen, her eyes filling with tears, before she tore her gaze away, sighing deeply. She collapsed onto the seat by the table, holding her hands clasped before her one her knees as she said grimly: "I suppose… I was always afraid this might happen. Even when I said otherwise, I _knew_ there was always that chance. That something in my past would come back to haunt me one day."

"Yes, well," Sherlock muttered as he touched his aching side – he was sure it was bruising and that would not make the job of raising twins any easier, "he's a very… _tangible_ ghost."

"God." Mary whispered, leaning her head into her hand. "Marie was right."

Sherlock glanced back at Mary in surprise as Mary sighed, murmuring: "I just wanted a bit of peace, and I _really_ thought I had it. But…"

"No, Mary..." Sherlock interrupted, moving to be before her.

She glanced up at him in surprise as Sherlock gazed at her evenly, saying softly but determinedly: "You do. I made a promise, remember?"

"You broke it instantly, to make a vow to Marie." Mary teased half-heartedly.

But Sherlock was dead serious as he answered firmly: "I may have broken my word that it would be the last _vow_ I ever made, but I stand by the promise I made. I said I would look after the three of you, and I _will_ uphold that vow, just as I will protect Marie and the twins."

Mary's lips twitched at that, and she joked lightly: "Sherlock, the dragon-slayer."

Sherlock smiled a little in response, but it dropped as he said seriously: "Stay close to me and I will keep you safe from him, I promise you."

Mary stared at him for a moment, before her gaze dropped and she stared thoughtfully into space. Sherlock could almost hear the gears working in her mind, before Mary finally came to a decision and she said as she stood up determinedly: "There's something I think you should read."

She dug around in her pocket, and Sherlock frowned as he heard the rustling of paper.

"What is it?" He asked, glancing down at the folded piece of paper that Mary was handing over to him, and she admitted: "I hoped I wouldn't have to do this."

Sherlock frowned at her, glancing up but she met his gaze with an unreadable look. He quickly opened the paper, his frown deepening as he saw it was blank, and he began as he looked back up at Mary: "What are you...?"

He cut off as he caught a hint of something wafting up, and he quickly sniffed the paper. Realization hit him too late as Sherlock felt his head suddenly spin, and he groaned: "Mary... Oh, no!"

He gasped as he toppled, Mary quickly catching him and she settled him swiftly into a chair, murmuring: "There you go. It's all right. It's for the best, believe me."

"No…" Sherlock groaned, but Mary said urgently as she left him, his sight tunneling into darkness as she whispered: "You just look after them till I get back. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…"

* * *

 _Sherlock vaguely heard a little girl's voice singing something as though from a distance, echoing strangely as he remembered a vague memory from his childhood where he would play pirate. He remembered a beach, and a dog, and it barked as a baby cried in the distance – a familiar cry._

Sherlock jerked awake, blinking as the memory slipped away like a dream. He groaned as he forced himself awake, looking around the church vault and his eyes instantly landed on the abandoned laptop, still opened… but missing the memory stick.

Sherlock gasped, grabbing the laptop to check that the memory stick really was gone, before he heaved himself to his feet, groaning as he did. His head was pounding and he felt nauseous, but he fought it all as he staggered out of the church.

There was no sign of Mary anywhere, and while he'd promised to call Marie as soon as something happened, there was one place he needed to check first. Sherlock stumbled out, groaning and wincing when he almost went toppling over, but he forced himself to power on as he pulled out his phone.

* * *

"Agra?"

Mycroft stared at his disheveled younger brother sitting across from him at his desk, his brow arching questioningly as Sherlock just waited impatiently.

Mycroft shrugged, leaning back casually as he recited: "A city on the banks of the river Yamuna in the northern state of Uttar Pradesh, India. It is 378km west of the state capital, Lucknow-"

"What are you, Wikipedia?" Sherlock interjected, his tone flat and unamused.

Mycroft hid a smile – unsuccessfully – as he answered in amusement: "Yes."

"AGRA is an acronym." Sherlock elaborated, and Mycroft returned sarcastically: "Oh, good, I love an acronym. All the best secret societies have them."

Sherlock ignored that as he continued: "Team of agents, the best. But you know all that."

He looked at his brother, who replied flatly, no hint of joking left: "Of course I do. Go on."

He stared at Sherlock, who explained: "One of them, Ajay, is looking for Mary, also one of the team."

"Indeed?" Mycroft noted, his brow quirking slightly. "Well, that's news to me."

Sherlock raised a brow as he challenged: "Is it?"

Mycroft just lifted his brows back at his brother, smiling lightly, and Sherlock moved on: "He's already killed looking for that memory stick. AGRA always worked for the highest bidder, I thought that might include you?"

"Me?" Mycroft questioned with a deep frown, and Sherlock sighed as he retorted: "Well, I mean the British government, or whatever government you're currently propping up. You did hire my wife, after all."

"She wasn't even your girlfriend at the time of hire." Mycroft countered.

Sherlock gave him a look, and Mycroft finally straightened up as he informed his brother: "AGRA were very reliable. Then came the Tbilisi incident."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed just slightly but he listened as Mycroft said briefly: "They were sent in to free the hostages but it all went horribly wrong. And that was that, we stopped using freelancers."

"Your initiative?" Sherlock questioned, and Mycroft acknowledged: "My initiative. Freelancers are too woolly, too messy."

His voice went flat and for once he was being completely honest as he stated: "I don't like loose ends. Not on my watch."

Sherlock ignored that as he reached for a pen and paper off Mycroft's desk, saying as he wrote something down quickly: "There was something else. A detail. A codeword."

He turned the paper back to his brother, who read it with a frown.

"Ammo?" He questioned, and Sherlock shrugged: "It's all I've got."

"Little enough." Mycroft snipped, and Sherlock barely withheld his sigh.

Instead, he asked as nicely as he was capable of being with Mycroft: "Could you do some digging as a favour?"

Mycroft almost raised a brow at that. As it was, he did give his brother a rather nasty smile as he pointed out: "You don't have many favours left."

"Then I'm calling them all in." Sherlock replied firmly, and Mycroft did raise a brow at that. Sometimes, he forgot how stupid his brother could be.

He leant forward, watching his brother intently as he asked: "And if you can find who's after her and neutralise them, what then? You think you can go on saving her forever? Save your _wife_ forever?"

Sherlock didn't even miss a beat as he answered: "Of course."

"Is that sentiment talking?" Mycroft challenged, and Sherlock retorted: "No, it's me."

Mycroft leveled a look at him as he countered in a musing tone: "Difficult to tell the difference these days."

"I told you, I made a promise." Sherlock almost snapped. "And a vow."

Mycroft continued to watch his brother for a moment longer before he sighed, and said brusquely: "All right. I'll see what I can do."

He then leveled another look at Sherlock, leaning his elbows on his desk as he warned: "But remember this, brother mine. Agents like Mary, _and_ _Marie,_ " Sherlock twitched a little at Mycroft's use of her actual name for once, "tend not to reach retirement age."

Sherlock stiffened as Mycroft gave him another look, saying rather bluntly: "They _get_ retired… in a pretty permanent sort of way."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, his jaw setting angrily, and he bit out harshly before he left: "Not on my watch."


	11. Run

Marie stared at the letter again, re-reading Mary's words to John with an unreadable expression.

' _My darling_ ,' Mary had written, ' _I need to tell you this because you mustn't hate me for going away. I gave myself permission to have an ordinary life. I'm not running, I promise you that, I just need to do this in my own way. But I don't want you and Sherlock hanging off my gun arm, and I don't want to drag Marie back into a world she so deservedly left behind. I'm sorry, my love. I know you'll try to find me but there is no point. Every move is random and not even Sherlock Holmes can anticipate the roll of a dice. I need to move the target far, far away from you and Rosie, and then I'll come back, my darling. I swear I will_.'

"So, she's done it." Marie sighed, handing the note back to John. "She's gone off on her own."

"And she thinks she'll be untraceable by being unpredictable." John muttered, and Sherlock hummed.

"Well, she's wrong there." He commented, almost absently as he stared off into space thoughtfully, and John glared at him while Marie winced.

"This isn't just some, some _distraction_ , Sherlock!" John snapped at his friend.

Sherlock looked up in surprise while John ranted: "This is my _wife,_ and she's out there, doing God knows what, while this, this _psychopath_ is hunting her!"

"I know." Sherlock started, trying to calm the other man down as he realized John's misunderstanding.

But John steamrolled over him as agitation and worry consumed him: "Oh, you know, do you? Well, that's a surprise, isn't it, the great Sherlock Holmes knowing!"

"John." Sherlock frowned, but John went on: "It must be nice, being able to stay so 'above it all', without the 'distractions' of emotions."

"John-" Sherlock tried to interject again, but John carried on over him: "Yeah, it's easy for you, isn't it? It's not your wife that's on the run!"

John shouted the last words, exploding his anger and anguish, and Sherlock finally snapped, just as heatedly: "No, but it could be!"

John blinked, falling silent at last as Sherlock huffed out a breath, taking a deep one in as he forced himself to calm down again. Marie watched them with worried green eyes as John stayed quiet while Sherlock repeated in a much calmer, more neutral tone: "I know what that feels like."

His eyes flickered over to Marie as he reminded John softly: "To have your wife run for her life, to have her facing dangers, to know she's alone in that… and to not be there. To not know if she's all right."

John glanced between his friends as Marie reminded Sherlock pointedly: "That was your own fault for not even texting me for the two years you were gone."

"Details." Sherlock dismissed, though his blue eyes did soften slightly in apology. Again.

Marie nodded, while Sherlock turned back to John, saying calmly: "So I do understand and I _can_ sympathize, despite what you might think."

John lowered his eyes at the subtle jab at his own harsh accusations, which had been born of frustration and worry, but Sherlock moved on without further ado: "But trust me: we _will_ find her."

"But _why_ , Sherlock?" John asked at last, glancing back down at the letter in his hand. "Why did this, this Ajay come back? Why now?"

"You can never outrun your past."

It was Marie who answered, explaining as confusion crossed John's face: "It comes back. It will _always_ comes back – it's the one constant for people like me and Mary."

"Do you, do you mean Moriarty?" John asked hesitantly, glancing between his friends as Sherlock moved to take Marie's hands in his soothingly. "I mean, for you two? Like this Ajay has come back for Mary?"

"No, John, Moriarty isn't back from the dead." Sherlock answered, a tad testily, and Marie explained softly: "It's not _Jim_. I guess you could say it's the _idea_ of him. Or rather, people _like_ him."

"I still don't understand." John pointed out, and Marie elaborated: "He wasn't the only one who knew my or Sherlock's past, just as Ajay isn't the only one after Mary."

"Magnusson." John breathed in realization, and Marie smiled faintly.

"He's another one, yes." She admitted, when John frowned.

"But… you were cleared." John protested. "Sherlock went after Magnusson more for Mary than you, right? Your file's already been leaked, but Sherlock cleared your name along with his over a year ago. Surely-?"

"Did you never wonder _why_ no-one has ever since questioned Marie's 'leaked' file?" Sherlock asked, and John paused at the specific wording.

His eyes widened, and he glanced at Marie, who nodded with a sad smile.

"It wasn't my file – or, rather, I should say it wasn't my _real_ file." Marie explained. "There was information there, yes, that could be traced back to me, but the file itself wasn't real. It was pulled together from various assassins, all of whom have been since put out of action… by me. So, yes, it links to me, but the information in it wasn't mine."

"But…" John said, shocked by this information, and Sherlock explained: "It was all faked. Moriarty sent a _fake_ file, so it was easy to prove it all wrong."

"But _why?_ " John asked, brows pulling together in confusion. "I mean, I get that you two, and Mycroft, _pretended_ to be upset," he gave them pointed looks and they had the grace to look a little ashamed, "to trick Moriarty – and me. But why would he send a fake file, and what does this have to do with your 'shadows'?"

"Because," Marie answered softly, "it also means that my file exists, _somewhere_ , out there, in someone's hands."

John blinked, realization hitting him, even as Sherlock continued: "Magnusson had everything memorized, so killing him eliminated a large threat, but there are traces that cannot be erased no matter how much we try. Mary's memory stick and Ajay's return are proof of this, and that is what Marie… _and I_ have feared."

John nodded, looking down at the letter in his hands once more while Sherlock nodded at Marie.

"We'll bring Mary back." He promised softly, and she reminded him quietly: "The last times, you 'killed' yourself and then got yourself exiled."

"It won't be like that this time." He countered firmly. "I promise – no more running."

And despite herself, Marie smiled a little back at him as Sherlock leant forward and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

The laptop that had been on the desk beside them beeped, and the couple drew apart as John also glanced over.

Sherlock quickly moved to stand before the computer, staring at the screen as he informed them: "She's moved."

John nodded while Marie's eyes steeled with determination, and Sherlock straightened once more.

"Let's go."

* * *

Mary walked swiftly down the bustling streets of Morocco, keeping her clothed head slightly lowered as she moved through a marketplace while the sun began to set in the distance. Checking, for the thousandth time that she wasn't being followed, Mary slipped down a side alleyway and down the less busy path to arrive finally at a doorway, which had a sign hanging above it that read: "Hotel CECIL."

Heading inside, she reached a latticed door, when she paused. Leaning in, she listened to the sound of laughter and muffled words coming from inside, and Mary tensed. Pulling a large pistol and cocking it, she slowly and carefully made her way into her room.

She could hear an adamant male voice inside saying: "Not like this, my friend. You haven't got a chance, not a chance."

Keeping to the shadows, Mary snuck carefully along the wall leading to the sitting room area, keeping her pistol ready as the voice continued: "I've got you where I want you. Give in! Give in! I will destroy you. You're completely at my mercy."

Mary frowned – voice sounded a little young – but was otherwise undeterred as she made ready to turn the corner and shoot…

"Mr Baker." A _very_ familiar British voice spoke. "Well, that completes the set."

Mary's expression dropped instantly into one of shock while she heard the other male laugh: "No it does not."

Lowering her gun as she lost strength in her limbs, Mary stepped around the corner to look for herself as she heard Sherlock ask: "Well, who else am I missing?"

There, sitting before her room coffee table, was the consulting detective himself, looking very much at home in his favourite dark blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up as he played a game of cards – clearly Happy Families - with a young Moroccan man of perhaps thirteen.

As Mary stared, the young man was explaining to Sherlock as he pointed at the cards Sherlock had laid down: "Master Bun. It's not a set without him. How many more times, Mr Sherlock?"

Sherlock sighed, and he noted: "Maybe it's because I'm not familiar with the concept. Oh, hi, Mary." He added nonchalantly, looking up at the stunned woman.

The young Moroccan glanced at Mary briefly before looking back at Sherlock, asking in confusion: "What concept?"

"Happy families." Sherlock answered. "There's always one… or, in my case, more than one."

He then looked back at Mary as he asked casually: "Nice trip?"

That finally broke Mary from her shock, and she demanded: "How the f-"

"Please, Mary." Sherlock interrupted swiftly. "There is a child present."

He gestured at the boy before him, and Mary sighed deeply before she demanded incredulously: "How did you get in here?!"

"Karim let me in." Sherlock answered easily, nodding at the boy who smiled and waved at Mary.

"Hello." He greeted.

Mary nodded in greeting, and Sherlock asked politely: "Karim, would you be so kind as to fetch us some tea?"

Mary was removing her headscarf, pulling it to her shoulders and revealing her long, dark brown bob hair, as Karim answered easily: "Sure."

"Thank you." Sherlock said, and Karim left, greeting Mary as he went: "Nice to meet you, missus."

As soon as the boy left, Mary turned back to Sherlock as she demanded: "No, I-I-I mean how did you find me?"

Sherlock frowned, as though wondering why she was surprised, and he pointed out: "I'm Sherlock Holmes."

"No, _really_ , though, how?" Mary repeated, not falling for his feint. "Every movement I made was entirely random; every new personality just on the roll of a dice!"

"Mary," Sherlock sighed, "no human action is ever truly random."

Mary stared as Sherlock explained swiftly: "An advanced grasp of the mathematics of probability mapped onto a thorough apprehension of human psychology and the known dispositions of any given individual can reduce the number of variables considerably."

Mary blinked, while Sherlock went on rapidly: "I myself know of at least fifty-eight techniques to refine this seemingly infinite array of randomly generated possibilities down to the smallest number of feasible variables."

Mary paused before nodding, though a slight frown marred her face as she pondered his words. Sherlock paused, before he added: "But they're really difficult, so instead I just ... stuck a tracer on the inside of the memory stick."

There was a brief pause as Mary stared at him, and then Sherlock snorted a laugh while Mary's mouth dropped open and she laughed as well.

"Oh, you bastard!" Mary breathed, and as Sherlock continued to laugh, she repeated, exclaiming: "You bastard!"

"I know, but your face!" Sherlock chuckled, and Mary quoted incredulously: "'The mathematics of probability'?!"

"You believed that." Sherlock countered, and Mary laughed back as she threw her hands up in the air: "'Feasible variables'!"

"Yes. I started to run out about then." Sherlock admitted, and Mary demanded: "How did you even predict I'd use dice to make my moves after I left you?"

"The use of rolling a die is common enough practice." Marie pointed out calmly as she walked into the room from behind Mary, and Mary turned to stare at the woman. Marie smiled.

"Hello, Mary." She greeted, and Mary asked: "You're here, too?"

"I couldn't just leave you." Marie answered lightly. "You're my friend, and besides – you'd do the same for me."

"I'd have thought Sherlock would have insisted you stay at home with the twins." Mary noted, and Sherlock shrugged.

"Marie is her own person." He answered. "I will not tell her what to do."

"He means I'd never listen if I didn't want to anyways, so he wouldn't bother trying." Marie said fondly, and Sherlock just shrugged again nonchalantly in acquiescence.

Mary had to laugh again, and she said in half-amusement and half-exasperation: "Oh! So I suppose you were the one that advised Sherlock to bug the memory stick then?"

"No," John interrupted as he also walked into the room at last, "that was _my_ idea."

Instantly, Mary lost her lightheartedness, her face dropping as she looked at John almost sheepishly. Sherlock and Marie looked between the pair as John stared back at Mary evenly, his expression carefully neutral as Mary gazed at him.

Marie nudged Sherlock, murmuring softly: "You haven't eaten today."

"Hm? Oh, right." Sherlock agreed, realizing what she meant. He was so used to Marie reminding him to eat, it had taken a moment for him to pick up on her subtle message.

"Dinner?" Sherlock suggested, reaching to grab his suit jacket, and Marie nodded.

The pair slid away quietly, leaving John and Mary to have their much needed talk. Unfortunately… it seemed neither John nor Mary quite knew what to say.

* * *

"They won't have talked by the time we return." Sherlock said softly as he and Marie sat in the hotel's lobby café for a quick bite.

They'd intercepted Karim to ask for the tea to be delayed until later, hoping to give John and Mary some uninterrupted privacy. Even so, both Sherlock and Marie were well aware that, as with last time, it would take John time to confront Mary properly about what had happened.

"They might." Marie said, though she didn't sound very convincing.

"And we cannot stay out too long." Sherlock murmured, glancing around once surreptitiously, and Marie nodded.

"I agree." She said softly. "There's no telling how far Ajay might have followed us."

"I'm hoping we lost him in Germany." Sherlock sighed, and Marie shook her head.

"He's too well-trained to be certain." She murmured, and Sherlock pointed out: "I know – I was just trying to ease your mind."

"Forgetting I'm slightly more clever than that?" Marie asked with a half-hearted teasing tone, and Sherlock shook his head.

"Marie, it _will_ be fine." He soothed. "And we'll leave soon; Mary won't want to stay here much longer either. Then we can get back to the twins."

"I hope so." Marie sighed, leaning her head against Sherlock's shoulder. "I don't like being so far from them, especially not now."

Sherlock just nodded and, in a rare moment of PDA, kissed the top of her head softly as they spent the rest of the time waiting for their meal in silence.

* * *

Night had fallen by the time John finally broke the silence between him and Mary.

She'd removed her wig by that point, and John was seated on the low table, looking up at Mary as he finally stated: "AGRA."

"Yes." Mary agreed readily, and John said in the same neutral tone he seemed determined to maintain: "Mm-hm. You said it was your initials."

Mary bit her lip, worrying it briefly, before she said hesitantly: "In a way, that was true."

"'In a way'?" John repeated, almost sarcastically but not quite there. He finally shook his head, looking away as he almost sighed: "So many lies."

Mary stared at him, her eyes filled with sorrow, and she murmured the only words she could: "I'm so sorry."

"I don't just mean you." John murmured, and Mary frowned, asking: "What?"

But John averted the topic, looking at Mary as he listed: "Alex, Gabriel, Ajay..."

He paused before adding: "You're… 'R.'"

Mary nodded, and John gave her a tight smile, one that didn't really reach his eyes, as he stated almost flatly: "Rosamund."

Mary hesitated for just a moment before she admitted: "Rosamund Mary."

John nodded.

"I always liked 'Mary.'" Mary admitted softly, and John smiled a little as he agreed: "Yeah, me too."

But the smile dropped as quickly as it came, and John turned his head once more as he corrected with a sigh: "I used to."

Mary tensed just fractionally, looking wary as John stood up and started to pace way.

"I ju... I didn't know what else to do." Mary blurted out, and John turned back to her as he pointed out: "You could have stayed. You could have talked to me."

His calm façade cracked as he said in a tight, angry voice: "That's what couples are _supposed_ to do: work things through."

John waited, and Mary just shrugged helplessly.

"Yes." She sighed, looking dejected. "Yes, of course."

"Mary," John sighed as he walked over, "I may not be a _very_ good man, but I think I'm a bit better than you give me credit for, most of the time."

" _All_ the time." Mary corrected, sighing as she gazed at John sadly. "You're always a good man, John. I've never doubted that. You never judge; you never complain. I don't deserve you. I..."

She broke off, casting her eyes down as her voice gave out. John frowned slightly, looking at her with a strange expression, when Mary took a deep breath and looked back up at John.

"All I ever wanted to do was keep you and Rosie safe, that's all." She said quietly.

John's face softened a little, and he reached out to place his hand gently over Mary's, holding her clasped hands in a sign of forgiveness.

Marie relaxed slightly at that, glad that John and Mary had managed to work out their differences once more, and she leaned against Sherlock. He'd been sitting as silently as she had on the bench in the corner of the room, where they'd been since returning from dinner to find John and Mary still silent.

They'd waited, patiently letting John and Mary work things out somewhat privately, but now Sherlock looked over at them.

"I _will_ keep you safe." Sherlock said quietly but firmly.

Marie glanced at him as John and Mary also looked over, and Sherlock met their eyes evenly. Feeling Marie tense, he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close to his side for comfort as he asked of Mary: "But it has to be in London. It's my city; I know the turf."

Mary glanced at him and then John, uncertainty warring on her face, while John averted his gaze once more.

"Mary."

Mary glanced up, her nervousness clear, and Marie gave her a soft, gentle look.

"Come home." She suggested, and Mary's eyes filled with emotions.

 _Home_. The one thing that people like she and Marie could never have had in their old lives… but that they now each had.

John also looked at Mary as Mary bowed her head, while Sherlock stood up, bringing Marie to her feet with him, and he agreed with Marie as he said softly: "Come home and everything will be all right, I promise you."

A small smile appeared on Mary's face, a faint gleam of hope entering her eyes, when Marie's expression suddenly hardened.

Sherlock's gaze also became steely in an instant as he too spotted the ominous red dot that appeared on the side of John's head. Neither John nor Mary could see it from their angle, but her friends' expressions instantly notified Mary that something was wrong even, before Sherlock had to say anything.

"Get down!" Sherlock shouted.


	12. Ammo

Mary moved into action instantly, reaching forward and pulling John down with her as Sherlock reached for the coffee table. He raised it onto its side, creating a quick shield for John to hide behind while Mary dashed from her crouch around the corner and further into the sitting room.

Marie had pulled her pistol while her friends found cover, and she fired back towards the room door, her bullets whizzing through the latticed door and towards their shooter.

But he was quick, ducking around the edge of the still closed door before firing his own pistol through and forcing Marie to duck behind the wall.

By that time, John had taken full cover, Sherlock was braced tightly against the wall beside Marie, and Mary had pulled her own pistol as well, firing with Marie at their attacker just as he broke through the doors.

Ajay fired back at them, and Marie quickly retracted once more, bracing herself back against the wall beside Sherlock. Mary fired another shot before she too ducked against the wall on Sherlock's other side, while Ajay took cover by the wall's corner, bracing himself against the wall just behind the turn into the sitting room.

"Hello again." Ajay snarled.

"Ajay?" Mary called, while Marie tensed as she heard Ajay's voice from around the corner, right beside her head.

"Oh, you remember me." Ajay growled back, unaware of just how close he was to Marie. "I'm touched."

"Look, I thought you were dead, believe me, I did." Mary tried to plead, but Ajay was beyond reason as he growled: "I've been looking forward to this for longer than you can imagine."

Mary grit her teeth as she answered: "I swear to you, I thought you were dead. I thought I was the only one who got out."

Ajay shifted, obscured from most of their views, before firing at the table that John was still hiding behind. Sherlock held out his hand to Mary, who swiftly handed him her gun. Marie tensed, and she shifted ever so slightly, making absolutely no sound as Sherlock covered them by calling out: "How did you find us?"

"By following you, Sherlock Holmes." Ajay replied darkly. "Through Finland, Germany, Greece… I mean, you're clever, Sherlock Holmes, you and your wife."

Marie's eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening as Ajay revealed he'd researched them enough to even know of their relationship, while Ajay continued menacingly: "You two found _her,_ but I found _you_ , so perhaps not so clever. And now here we are, at last."

At that moment, Sherlock fired at the lamp hanging on the ceiling, throwing them into further darkness while Marie turned the corner just enough to fire at Ajay. He was quick, however, and ducked into the window alcove, barely dodging Marie's bullet.

"Touché." Ajay murmured, a faint smirk in his voice, and John called loudly: "Listen. Whatever you _think_ you know, we can talk about this. We can work it out."

"She thought I was dead." Ajay whispered. "I might as well have been."

"It was always just the four of us, always, remember?" Mary tried pleading again, while Sherlock nudged Marie, silently asking her to crouch down.

She did so – unwillingly but silently – taking a position by Sherlock's feet as he remained standing, both keeping their guns trained on the wall corner, watching for Ajay, as the man breathed in response to Mary's plea: "Oh yeah."

"So why d'you want to kill me?" Mary asked, almost bluntly.

"D'you know how long they kept me prisoner?" Ajay hissed. "What they did to me? They tortured Alex to death. I can still hear the sound of his back breaking."

Marie's jaw clenched even tighter, but she remained absolutely still otherwise as Ajay hissed: "But you, you… Where were you?"

"That day at the embassy, I escaped." Mary answered, her voice tight both from the tension and the news Ajay had dropped on her about her teammates' fates.

"Oh, yeah." Ajay almost spat bitterly, and Mary countered sharply: "But I lost sight of you too, so you explain: where were _you_?"

"Oh, I got out..." Ajay replied darkly. "For a while. Long enough to hide my memory stick."

His breathing was starting to come heavily once more as he snarled: "I didn't want that to fall into their hands. _I_ was loyal, you see. Loyal to my friends."

Mary glanced at Sherlock, who remained stiff and unyielding as he kept his gun trained on the area where Ajay's voice was coming from as the man hissed: "But they took me, tortured me. Not for information. Not for anything except fun."

Marie suppressed a quick intake of breath at that, her horror and sympathy for the man countered by the very real danger she could feel almost radiating off of him.

Ajay spat bitterly at them, at Mary: "Oh, they thought I'd give in, die, but I didn't. I lived, and eventually they forgot about me just rotting in a cell somewhere. Six years they kept me there, until one day I saw my chance. Oh, and I-I made them pay. You know, all the time I was there, I just kept picking up things – little whispers, laughter, gossip: how the clever agents had been betrayed."

Marie cocked her head, a frown pulling her brows together as Ajay snarled: "Brought down by _you_."

"Me?" Mary repeated incredulously.

But at that instant, a train sped passed outside the window, whistling as it went while its bright lights briefly illuminated the room. The room sprang to action almost instantly as Marie stood, pressing her gun to Ajay's temple as he made to dash out as well, while at the same instant Sherlock passed his gun back to Mary and the blonde raised it right at Ajay's face.

Ajay didn't even flinch from Marie's gun, his eyes and own pistol trained on Mary as a wild, almost insane, anger burned in his gaze.

Another click told them that John, too, had managed to get to the gun stowed away in one of the bags that had been in the corner of the room, and Marie glanced over just briefly to see John behind the table with a gun pointed right at Ajay's chest. At least that meant they had most of their bases covered.

She returned her attention to the man insane with sorrow and angry vengeance as Ajay stared Mary down, while the blonde woman met his gaze evenly with her own, all of them holding their guns with both hands for extra stability and precision.

"You know I'll kill you too." Mary said in an unnaturally forced tone. "You know I will, Ajay."

The man's eyes were filled with rage-induced tears as he hissed back: "What, you think I care if I die?"

He let his one hand fall from his gun, drawing it ever closer to Mary's face, and Sherlock tensed as he watched while Marie's eyes narrowed as Ajay continued spitefully: "I've dreamed of killing you every night for six years-"

He stepped so close that Mary's gun was now almost touching his forehead while Marie's gun never left his temple, but Ajay didn't even seem to care as he hissed venomously: "-of _squeezing_ the life out of your treacherous, lying throat."

"Take one more step, and I will shoot you, agent." Marie warned, and the cold tone made Ajay pause. It was too familiar for people like him and Marie and Mary, and Ajay's lip curled.

"Ah… I wondered." He murmured. "So, you're one of us."

Marie remained impassive, as Ajay glared at Mary hatefully as he added in a snarl: "But you know – _we_ all know – that I can easily shoot her before either of you can kill me, too."

"I swear to you, Ajay." Mary answered, her grip tightening. None of them were going to back down; they all knew it. Now, it was a matter of who would crack first.

"What did you hear, Ajay?" Sherlock interrupted, his tone calm and authoritative as he provided the voice of reason. "When you were a prisoner, what _exactly_ did you hear?"

Marie's jaw tightened, while Ajay repeated scathingly: "What did I hear?"

His lips parted, and his voice was haunted as he repeated the words that he had had to hear for years throughout all the tortures he was forced to endure: "Ammo."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, as did Marie's, while Ajay hissed: "Every day as they tore into me. Ammo. Ammo." His voice started to tremble. "Ammo."

His breathing started to become labored, his hands shaking as he repeated: "Ammo."

Mary's face tightened as she saw Ajay was staring to lose it while Marie's hand tightened on her gun, her knuckles white, as Ajay spat savagely: "We were betrayed!"

"And they said it was her?" Sherlock questioned, but Ajay was passed reason as he accused Mary, his face twisted with anger and hate: " _You_ betrayed us!"

"They said her name?"" Sherlock interjected sharply, and Ajay spat: "They said it was the English woman!"

Marie frowned; but… that meant…

A gunshot suddenly fired, followed instantly by another, and Marie reacted automatically. Her own gun fired, piercing Ajay's brain and killing him instantly before he could die from the two shots fired… into his back.

"No!" Mary screamed as she dropped her gun, while Marie whipped her head around to see the Moroccan policeman standing in the room doorway, his gun raised. "No!"

Mary bent over Ajay, even knowing it was too late, and John hurried over to join her. Marie stared, her own gunhand falling to her side as she stared with an ashen expression, when a hand landed gently on her shoulder.

"He was already gone." Sherlock murmured softly, comfortingly, and Marie bit her lip as tears welled in her eyes.

"But I killed him."

Sherlock just wrapped his arms around her, tucking her under his chin as she started to tremble, while Mary cried as she mourned Ajay's death and John placed a sympathetic around her.

There was a crash, as Karim walked into the room and – upon seeing the dead man lying on the floor – dropped the tea tray he had prepared.

The sound of shattering pottery and metal ringing echoed around the group, and Marie turned and buried her face into Sherlock's chest, unable to shake the despair at how aptly metaphorical to them the broken cups seemed at that moment.

* * *

"The English woman; that's all he heard." Sherlock was explaining over the phone. "Naturally he assumed it was Mary."

"Couldn't this wait until you're back?" Mycroft grumbled in response, and Sherlock replied sharply as he paced about the Moroccan motel room: "No, it's not over - Ajay said that they'd been betrayed. The hostage takers knew that AGRA were coming. There was only a voice on the phone, remember, and a code word."

"Ammo, yes, you said." Mycroft replied scathingly, still very disgruntled to have to be doing this call, and Sherlock exhaled sharply.

He paused in his pacing to stare at the other side of the room, where Mary and Marie were huddled together, exchanging comfort as Marie calmed Mary while the latter reassured the younger brunette that she held nothing against her. John was standing to the side, his arms crossed as he stared unseeingly out the window.

"How's your Latin, brother dear?" Sherlock questioned, seemingly abruptly, and Mycroft repeated incredulously: "My Latin?"

"Amo, amas, amat." Sherlock recited distinctly, and Mycroft translated, still sounding puzzled: "I love, you love, he loves. What-?"

He broke off as understanding dawned, and Sherlock agreed flatly to Mycroft's silence: "Not 'ammo' as in 'ammunition' but 'amo,' meaning...?"

He trailed off suggestively, and Mycroft was silent for another beat before he stated sternly: "You'd better be right, Sherlock."

With that, he hung up as Sherlock also ended the call, and Sherlock turned back to join his wife and friends once more as – back in London – Mycroft also began to move.

* * *

Sherlock spent the whole duration of the flight back to London in his seat, with his eyes closed, while Marie leant against his shoulder and slept. It wasn't a very peaceful sleep, as her brows scrunched anxiously every so often, but sleep she did, with her hand clasped tightly in Sherlock's, his wedding ring glinting slightly in the plane's white light.

In the row in front of them, Mary and John sat, with an empty seat between them. Mary was sleeping with her head propped against her hand, while John sat by the window, staring out into the clouds as he recalled his words to Mary earlier that day.

" _So many lies… I don't mean just you._ "

He glanced briefly at Mary, his guilt welling as he saw her tired expression, even in sleep, before he looked back out the window in silence as they flew into Heathrow airport.

* * *

 _Diogenes Club_

"This is absolutely ridiculous and you know it." Lady Smallwood fumed as she stared Mycroft down hard.

The pair were seated in a small interrogation room inside the private club, not far from Mycroft's own office in fact. The Lady herself was livid but controlled, her superior breeding keeping her composed as she stared down an equally composed Mycroft. The only signs of tension were Lady Smallwood's tight expression, her sharp voice, and Mycroft's ticking finger where he had interlocked his hands before him.

"How many more times?" Lady Smallwood demanded, and Mycroft answered coldly; "Six years ago you held the brief for foreign operations, code name 'Love'."

"And you're basing all this on a code name?" Lady Smallwood asked incredulously, staring at Mycroft in utter disbelief. "On a whispered voice on the telephone? Come on, Mycroft."

"You were the conduit for AGRA." Mycroft countered pointedly. "Every assignment, every detail, they got from you."

"It was my job." Lady Smallwood replied just as pointedly.

Mycroft simply unfolded his hands, sitting back as he added coolly: "Then there was the Tbilisi incident. AGRA went in."

"Yes." Lady Smallwood answered, and Mycroft reminded: "And they were betrayed."

"Not by me." Lady Smallwood ground out, her anger flashing in her eyes at the non-verbal accusation.

Mycroft watched her closely, as Lady Smallwood took a deep, calming breath before sighing it out.

"Mycroft, we've known each other a long time." She stated firmly. "I promise you, I haven't the foggiest idea what all this is about. You wound up AGRA and all the other freelancers."

She leant forward, saying grimly: "I haven't done any of the things you're accusing me of. Not one."

She met his eyes squarely as she repeated emphatically: _"_ Not. One."

Mycroft pursed his lips, glancing down at the table, before turning his head and looking to the mirror on his left.

Behind the one-way mirror, Sherlock also pursed his lips while Marie's lips were a thin line as they all concluded the same thing – Lady Smallwood was telling the truth. But then, how had Ajay's captors known the codename 'Amo'?

* * *

 _221B Baker Street_

Marie sighed as she walked into the flat, giving Lestrade a tired smile in greeting.

"I'm so sorry about the rushed call, Greg." She apologized. "Thank you so much for looking after the twins for me and Sherlock."

"Nah, it was no problem." Lestrade shrugged as he handed Sheryl over to Marie, while Scott waved his arms as he played in his little playpen. "So, did you sort everything out?"

"Unfortunately not." Marie admitted as she kissed her daughter's cheek, exhaling sharply. "There are still a few loose threads."

"You're starting to sound like Sherlock." Greg grunted as he stretched before nodding at Sheryl. "Well, goodnight little lady, little man." He nodded at Scott too, who gave him a disinterested look before going back to his blocks. "I'm going to look forward to a nice, long ba-"

He was cut off as both his and Marie's phones beeped, alerting them to a text message. Which could only be one person.

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" Lestrade complained even as he checked his phone, while Marie immediately shifted Sheryl in her arms so that she could pull out her phone as well.

'London Aquarium. Come immediately. SH.' The message read. And on Marie's, 'I need you' was tacked on at the end.

"The Aquarium?" Lestrade repeated incredulously, while Marie frowned.

Her mind whirled as she wondered what Sherlock had found, how he could have figured it out. Given the speed with which he had deducted who AGRA's betrayer was meant that narrowing possibilities and suspects hadn't been so difficult after all-

Marie's eyes widened, and she said to Lestrade sharply: "Greg, go, Sherlock will need backup quickly on this one."

"What? Why?" He asked, bewildered, and Marie replied sharply as she placed her phone to her ear, calling someone: "NOW!"

Lestrade scampered out quickly, calling on his own phone for his squad, while Marie placed Sheryl beside her twin brother as she muttered anxiously: "Come on, Molly, please, please, be free…"

' _Why did Mrs. Hudson have to choose_ this _week not to be here?_ ' She thought despairingly as her phone continued to ring.

* * *

 _Sea Life London Aquarium_

Sherlock walked slowly through the blue-lit corridors, walking through the glass tunnel that walked under the water to give a magnificent view of the sea creatures inside.

But Sherlock was uninterested in simple beasts at the moment as he strode purposefully down the path while the intercom announced: "Ladies and gentlemen, the Aquarium will be closing in five minutes. Please make your way to the exit. Thank you."

Sherlock ignored that too as he walked out into a small area with smaller tanks full of fish, and he slowed as he spotted a lone figure seated on one of the benches before one of the shark tanks.

"Your office said I'd find you here." Sherlock noted neutrally as he walked slowly towards the old woman, her back to him.

"This was always my favourite spot for agents to meet." Lady Smallwood's secretary, Vivian Norbury, answered calmly. "We're like them: ghostly, living in the shadows."

She turned to look at him at last, while Sherlock deadpanned: "Predatory."

"Well, it depends which side you're on." She returned coolly as she turned back to the sharks. "Also, _we_ have to keep moving or we die."

"Nice location for the final act." Sherlock commented lightly. "Couldn't have chosen it better myself. But then I never could resist a touch of the dramatic."

"I just come here to look at the fish." Vivian answered with a shrug.

She finally stood up, walking closer to the tank with her handbag tucked on the crook of her elbow as she said easily: I knew this would happen one day."

Vivian turned back to Sherlock as she added: "It's like that old story."

"I really am a very busy man." Sherlock interjected flatly. "Would you mind cutting to the chase?"

"You're very sure of yourself, aren't you?" Vivian noted, and Sherlock replied very bluntly: "With _good_ reason."

"There was once a merchant," Vivian elaborated, "in a famous market in Baghdad."

Sherlock closed his eyes irritably, tilting his head slightly forwards as he muttered: "I really have never liked this story."

"I'm just like the merchant in the story." Vivian continued, ignoring him. "I thought I could outrun the inevitable. I've always been looking over my shoulder. Always expecting to see the grim figure of-"

"-Death?" A voice called.

*A/N I just wanted to take this time to also say thank you to all my readers, and for all the reviews and favourites. It means so much to me when I receive the notifications, and I wanted to make sure that each and every one of you knew how much I appreciate it. Thank you!


	13. Shadows

Vivian glanced at the newcomer as the woman stopped a few feet beside Sherlock, who greeted without looking at the blonde woman: "Hello, Mary."

"Hey." Mary greeted, and Sherlock asked: "John?"

"On his way." Mary replied. "Marie?"

"Should be here soon as well." Sherlock confirmed, before he nodded at Vivian as he added with false politeness: "Let me introduce Amo."

Mary's face instantly darkened, and she stared at Vivian as she asked in disbelief: " _You_ were Amo?"

Mary's face contorted, and she checked: "You were the person on the phone that time?"

"Using AGRA as her private assassination unit." Sherlock commented flatly, and Mary demanded: "Why did you betray us?"

"Why does anyone do anything?" Vivian shrugged, and Sherlock said sarcastically: "Oh, let me guess. Selling secrets?"

"Well, it would be churlish to refuse." The old woman answered with an easy shrug, looking at Sherlock. "Worked very well for a few years. I bought a nice cottage in Cornwall on the back of it. M was very generous."

"M… Moriarty?" Sherlock asked, cocking his head. He hadn't thought there might be that connection in this case… but, then again, it seemed that all their fates were inexplicably and irrevocably tied to one another.

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know." Vivian answered with a sniff, before she continued with a grimace: "But the ambassador in Tbilisi found out. I thought I'd had it."

She looked briefly at Mary before she turned back to Sherlock as she went on: "Then she was taken hostage in that coup."

Vivian laughed, saying in amazement even now: "I couldn't believe my luck! That bought me a little time."

"But then you found out your boss had sent AGRA in." Sherlock commented calmly, and Vivian said with a touch of derision: "Very handy. They were always such reliable killers."

"What you didn't know, Mary," Sherlock murmured to Mary as Mary smiled back mirthlessly, "was that this one also tipped off the hostage-takers."

Mary turned and stared at him, her eyes reflecting her shock at this new revelation.

"Lady Smallwood gave the order," Vivian told Mary at last as the old woman settled back on the bench with her handbag on her lap, "but I sent another one to the terrorists with a nice little clue about her code name should anyone have an enquiring mind. Seemed to do the trick."

"And you thought your troubles were over." Mary murmured bitterly, her eyes just a little shiny with tears as she remembered her team who had had to suffer, both during and after the incident, according to Ajay.

"I was tired." Vivian sighed, looking at Mary. "Tired of the mess of it all."

She sighed, closing her eyes briefly as she murmured: "I just wanted some peace, some clarity. The hostages were killed, AGRA too."

She looked right at Mary as she added: "Or so I thought. My secret was safe."

She sighed again.

"But apparently not." She murmured, looking at Sherlock. "M told me you were close to catching on to me. But I'm so _tired_ , tired of looking out for Death."

She took a deep breath before murmuring: "Just a little peace. That's all _you_ wanted too, wasn't it?" She nodded at Mary. "A family, home. Really, I understand."

Mary glanced at Sherlock, fighting back her anger, but he was keeping his hand on Vivian. Or more specifically, on the hand she kept on top of her open handbag.

The old woman made to stand up, getting ready to leave as she told the pair before her firmly: "So just let me get out of here, right? Let me just walk away. I'll vanish; I'll go forever."

She looked at them expectantly. 'What d'you say?"

"After what you did?!" Mary snarled, starting forwards, and Sherlock called her sharply: "Mary, no!"

Instantly, Vivian stood, pulling a pistol from her handbag and pointing it right at Mary. The ex-assassin stopped instantly, backing away beside Sherlock once more as she said with forced calm: "Okay."

The three stood in a standoff, Vivian's gun aimed at Mary while the blonde woman and Sherlock continued to watch the old woman with narrowed eyes.

* * *

 _221B Baker Street_

"Sorry, Molly, thank you so much!" Marie said hurriedly as the other woman hurried into her flat, carrying little Rosie. "I'm sorry, I'll explain everything later!"

"Don't worry, go!" Molly said quickly, moving out of the way as Marie blurred out the door and ran down the stairs.

Her phone rang as she was running, and she answered swiftly: "Mycroft?"

"Have you left the flat yet?" He asked, and Marie replied as she climbed into the waiting cab beside John: "I have now."

"Go!" John ordered the cabbie, and they took off down the road once more as Mycroft warned: "Hurry, Marie. Vivian Norbury was never an agent but she received basic training, as did all our personnel. And as cornered as she will be, we will need you to be there."

"Stop wasting time telling me what I already know, Mycroft, and hurry up and get there before my husband ends up killing himself." Marie snapped back, hanging up while John glanced at her.

She met his gaze, and nodded, and the pair turned back to face the front as they waited anxiously for the cab to reach the London Aquairum.

* * *

 _Sea Life London Aquarium_

Vivian looked down at her pistol, examining it as she commented almost casually: "I was never a field agent. I always thought I'd be rather good."

Mary scoffed, incredulous and disgusted, while Sherlock commented neutrally: "Well, you handled the operation in Tbilisi very well."

Vivian smiled, and she answered almost smugly: "Thanks."

"For a secretary." Sherlock added flatly, and Vivian's smile disappeared instantly.

"What?" She asked in a flat tone.

"Can't have been easy all those years," Sherlock commented darkly, "sitting in the back keeping your mouth shut when you knew you were cleverer than most of the people in the room."

"I didn't do this out of jealousy!" Vivian scoffed, but Sherlock countered: "No?"

His eyes were cold as he listed: "Same old drudge, day in, day out, never getting out there where all the excitement was. Just back to your little flat on Wigmore Street."

Vivian let out a tiny gasp, mouthing silently, while Sherlock explained: "They've taken up the pavement outside the Post Office there. The local clay on your shoes is very distinctive."

He nodded just slightly at her shoes as he added almost derisively to Vivian's silent question: "Yes, your _little_ flat."

"How do you know?" Vivian demanded defensively, and Sherlock fired off: "Well, on your salary it would have to be modest and you spent all the money on that cottage, didn't you, and what are you, widowed or divorced?"

His eyes narrowed on the gold wedding band sitting on the index finger of her left hand as he pointed out: "Wedding ring's at least thirty years old and you've moved it to another finger. That means you're sentimentally attached to it but you're not still married."

His eyes moved on as he continued: "I favour widowed, given the number of cats you share your life with-"

"Sherlock." Mary warned as she watched Vivian, but he ignored her as he went on over her: "-Two Burmese and a tortoiseshell, judging by the cat hairs on your cardigan."

Vivian glanced at said article of clothing before looking back at Sherlock as he added: "A divorcee's more likely to look for a new partner; a widow to fill the void left by her dead husband."

"Sherlock, don't." Mary tried to warn again, but Sherlock continued, speaking faster and faster as his voice also rose: "Pets do that, or so I'm told, and there's clearly no-one new in your life, otherwise you wouldn't be spending your Friday nights in an aquarium."

Vivian had tensed incredibly by now, but Sherlock was merciless as he fired off: "That probably accounts for the drink problem, too: the slight tremor in your hand," he glanced briefly at her shaking gun hand, "the red wine stain ghosting your top lip."

His eyes were narrowed and cold as he concluded: "So yes. I say jealousy _was_ your motive after all. To prove how good you are."

Vivian's gaze flickered to the side as she heard footsteps approaching, and her whole expression tightened as she saw Mycroft step in.

"To make up for the inadequacies of your _little_ life." Sherlock finished, and Vivian glared a little at him just as Lestrade came in behind Mycroft, followed by three uniformed police officers.

"Well, Mrs Norbury." Mycroft greeted emotionlessly. "I must admit this is unexpected."

"Vivian Norbury," Sherlock said, his tone dripping sarcasm and derision, "who outsmarted them all. All except Sherlock Holmes."

Vivian stared at him, her lips pursed, and Sherlock took a step forward, holding out his left hand. Mary and the officers also stepped forward as Sherlock said quietly but firmly: "There's no way out."

"So it would seem." Vivian answered as she was cornered in the small alcove, but she smiled slightly as she looked at Sherlock only. "You've seen right through me, Mr. Holmes."

"It's what I do." Sherlock answered, just a little smug, and Vivian cocked her head.

"Maybe I can still surprise you." She said almost thoughtfully, before she suddenly lifted her gun and aimed it right at Sherlock.

The whole room tensed instantly, while Lestrade said sharply: "Come on. Be sensible."

Sherlock had spread his hands slightly in a sign of passive surrender, as they all watched Vivian, the whole room on edge. The old woman shook her head just slightly.

"No, I don't think so." She stated, and before anyone could react she fired the gun.

No-one could have stopped it; no-one… except Mary.

Sherlock's eyes widened as blonde hair flew before his face, slightly lower than his eye level, before Mary was crashing down onto the nearby bench, landing with a gasp as blood blurted from the centre of her shirt.

"Surprise." Vivian bit out bitterly, while Mary gasped and two police officers hurried over to Vivian.

They disarmed her and were just placing her under arrest as Marie came racing into the alcove, having sprinted ahead when she heard the gunshot.

Her eyes swept around swiftly, pausing on Sherlock and then stopping on Mary, and green eyes widened in horror.

Sherlock seemed to have gone into shock as he stared at Mary, but Marie didn't freeze.

" _You!_ " Marie snarled as she turned narrowed eyes, dark with rage, and her own gun on Vivian.

The old woman looked faintly surprised and alarmed, while Lestrade called quickly: "Marie, don't!"

"Marie-" Mycroft stared as well in concern, when Mary whimpered: "No… Marie…"

Marie's head snapped to her friend, her face scrunching with pain as she dropped her gun and fell to her knees beside Mary. Mary's voice seemed to wake Sherlock up as well, and he was beside Marie in an instant, pressing his gloved hand against Mary's wound as he murmured: "Everything's fine. It's gonna be okay."

"Get an ambulance!" Marie ordered Mycroft. "Now!"

Mycroft nodded, turning and hurrying away quickly just as John finally ran in behind Marie, while Lestrade ushered his men and Vivian out, the DI staying behind warily.

"It's all right, it's all right." Sherlock was trying to say comfortingly to Mary, as John's eyes fell on them.

"Mary!" He cried, rushing over and falling to his knees on Mary's other side.

"John." Mary whimpered, breathing heavily while Marie's eyes filled with tears. She wasn't going to make it – Marie had seen too many injuries and wounds to be disillusioned by false hope.

Sherlock had moved aside for John, moving behind Marie as John replaced his own hand over Mary's bleeding wound, applying pressure to it and holding her head with his left hand as he asked desperately: "Mary? Mary?"

Mary just looked at him, unable to stop her whimpers and gasps, as John whispered urgently: "Stay with me. Stay with me."

"Oh, come on." Mary got out between gasps as John tried to reassure her: "No, don't worry. Don't worry."

"Oh, come on, Dr.," Mary whimpered, her voice breaking, "you can do better than that. "

"Come on, Mary." John pleaded, and Mary sobbed as she looked at him with tear-filled eyes.

"Mary, come on." John begged, and Mary whimpered: "God, John, I think this is it."

"No-no-no-no, it's not." John argued, glancing at Mary's wound before looking back at Mary as she gasped: "Marie knows it, Dr., so should you."

She sobbed while Marie stared at Mary with an ashen expression.

"No, no." John tried to protest, but Mary whimpered over him: "You made me so happy."

"I know." John answered, trying to force a smile for Mary as she spoke around her own tears: "You gave me everything I could ever, ever…"

"Sh, sh." John hushed, his own voice breaking, while Mary got out painfully: "Want."

"Mary, Mary…" John whispered, hushing her as he ran his hand gently over her forehead, and Mary got out through sobs: "Look after Rosie."

"Sh, sh. "John pleaded, but Mary begged: "Promise me."

"I promise." John whispered, and Mary sobbed: "No."

"Yes, I promise." John said louder, and Mary cried: "Promise me!"

"I promise. I promise." John promised, staring at Mary pleadingly as Marie clasped a hand over her mouth, pressing back her own tears.

Sherlock stayed behind her silently as Mary stroked John's face softly before looking over blearily to the side.

"Hey, Sherlock." She called through her own tears, and Sherlock got out, his voice cracking just slightly: "Yes?"

"I ... so like you." Mary told him, just as Mycroft returned, staying back and giving them privacy as Mary whimpered: "Did I ever say?"

Sherlock held back his own tears as he tried to smile at the dying woman, answering in confirmation: "Yes. Yes, y-you did."

Mary whimpered before getting out: "I like… you two, Marie. I'm sorry ... for shooting Sherlock that time. I'm really sorry."

"Don't." Marie whispered, stroking Mary's free hand as she fought back her tears. "I never held it against you."

"I think we're even now, okay?" Mary whimpered, and Marie whispered: "More than even, Mary."

Mary choked with pain, and John said urgently: "Mary. Mary."

"Look after… our… boys… and Rosie… for me." Mary gasped out, and Marie nodded silently, a tear slipping down her cheek as Mary turned to John, who was trying so hard to keep her there with them for a little longer.

Mary was gasping, every breath filled with pain, but she stared John in the eye as she got out through her pain and sobs: "You... You were my whole world."

John grimaced, rearing his head back as he shut his eyes against his own despairing pain before looking back at Mary as he fought back his tears desperately for Mary's sake as Mary whimpered: "Being Mary Watson… was the only life… worth living."

"Mary." John murmured, and Mary whispered: "Thank you."

Her head dropped, and Mary gasped out her last breath.

The tears were now falling freely down Marie's face as she stared at her friend, while John whispered: "Mary."

Sherlock and Mycroft could only stand and watch while Marie bowed her head as John slowly reached over and checked for a pulse on Mary's neck, looking as though he were cradling his wife's head as he searched for something that was no longer there. Finally, John's head dropped and Sherlock could only watch, mostly in stunned disbelief, as John let out the most heartbreaking, almost animalistic howls from between clenched teeth.

Sherlock reached out a hand hesitantly, but before he could even come close, John finally lifted his head, staring at Sherlock with a face full of despair and vicious rage.

"Don't you dare." He hissed, and Sherlock paused, staring back at John uncertainly.

Marie looked at John, drawing in a sharp breath as John hissed almost savagely at Sherlock in a low voice: "You made a vow… You swore it."

Sherlock's eyes widened and he took a stunned step back, when Marie's hand gripped his tightly. He couldn't look down, and she didn't look up as she held his hand while he clutched hers as a lifeline as behind them Lestrade also tensed from the appalling scene before them before glancing at Mycroft.

Mycroft met his gaze before looking down as John, tears streaming down his face, turned back to Mary, hugging her close as he whimpered: "Mary."

Marie slowly stood, unable to stay any longer, and she took Sherlock with her as they slowly backed up, their hands clenched tightly together as they held each other from breaking down.


	14. Broken

"Nothing will ever be the same again, will it?" Mrs. Hudson sniffed as she clutched her handkerchief to her mouth.

"I'm afraid it won't." Sherlock replied grimly from where he sat in his armchair. Mrs. Hudson was seated across from him, in John's chair, and beside her – on the small side table – lay the book with the red balloon that John had called a 'me-substitute' not even days ago. The balloon had lost quite a bit of air by now, and hung limply off the side, but neither Sherlock nor Marie had been able to bear getting rid of it.

"We'll have to rally round, I expect." Mrs. Hudson murmured. "Do our bit. Look after little Rosie."

She broke into tears again, sniffling into her handkerchief, while Sherlock stood up as he said uncomfortably: "I'm just going to, um..."

He looked around uncertainly, before noticing the pile of letters next to his open laptop on the dining-table-turned-desk.

"Look through these things. There might be a case." Sherlock mumbled as he settled down before his laptop, and Mrs. Hudson murmured: "A case?"

Sherlock didn't respond, just staring at his laptop and Mrs. Hudson moaned: "Oh. You're not up to it, are you?"

Sherlock lowered his head, his hand clenching slightly as it hovered over his keyboard.

"Work is the best antidote to sorrow, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock said firmly, and Mrs. Hudson shifted as she looked around.

"Where's Rose-Marie?" The elderly lady asked carefully at last, and Sherlock sighed again, his shoulders dropping.

"She's sleeping in the bedroom with the twins." He answered softly, not looking up and Mrs. Hudson gave him a sympathetic look.

They were all taking Mary's death hard, but dealing with it in their own ways. John… wasn't coping, and neither Sherlock nor Marie had heard from him since that terrible night at the aquarium. Mrs. Hudson was constantly crying, while Molly stoically helped John out as best as she could. Marie, it seemed, had drowned herself in her children, and Sherlock… Well, it seemed he was intent on drowning himself in his work once more.

"I see." Mrs. Hudson said at last, wiping her tears once more. "Well, the dearie needs to rest. Must keep strong."

She sniffed, while Sherlock just nodded tightly.

"I'll make some tea, shall I?" Mrs. Hudson offered, but Sherlock shook his head.

Mrs. Hudson sighed, and turned to leave him instead – sensing he wanted to be alone – when Sherlock called: "Mrs. Hudson?"

"Yes, Sherlock?" She questioned, and Sherlock blinked a few times as though he were trying to figure out how to say something.

He lowered his gaze as he began rather hesitantly: "If you ever think I'm becoming a bit..." He paused, swallowing hard. "…Full of myself, cocky or... over-confident…"

"Yes?" She asked, waiting, and Sherlock turned to face her fully at last.

"Would you just say the word 'Norbury' to me, would you?" He requested in a bit of a rush, and Mrs. Hudson repeated in confusion: "Norbury?"

"Just that." Sherlock nodded, before he looked down sorrowfully as he added softly: "I'd be very grateful."

Mrs. Hudson nodded pityingly, while Sherlock turned to rifle through the things on his desk just to avoid looking at Mrs. Hudson. Sensing he needed to be alone, Mrs. Hudson started to leave before she remembered something.

"Oh." She turned, reaching into her apron pocket and handed Sherlock a padded envelope. "This is for you. It was mixed up with my things. "

"Oh, um… if you could just leave it here." Sherlock said vaguely, gesturing at the pile of letters on his desk, and Mrs. Hudson nodded.

Gently placing it down, she patted Sherlock's shoulder before turning and leaving. As soon as her footsteps faded down the stairs, Sherlock stopped pretending to be busy, leaning back with a sigh.

Ignoring the packet Mrs. Hudson had given him, Sherlock moved to the window instead, picking up his violin as he went.

Almost absently, he placed his bow to the strings and started to play the haunting melody he'd composed almost four years ago on a dreary New Year's Day. He'd made adjustments to it since then, altering the tune to reflect his lighter moods since the song's first composition, but today, today he played it as it had originally been written. Sorrowful, a little regretful… and heartbreaking in its beauty.

"Sherlock."

He glanced back at Marie's voice, meeting her eyes briefly where she stood in the doorway watching him play.

She'd clearly just woken up, and fallen asleep crying again, judging by the slight red that still rimmed her sorrowful green eyes. His eyes held hers for a moment before he glanced away, unable to bear her shared grief.

He hit the wrong note as he did so, the music ending abruptly with a sharp screech, and Sherlock lowered his bow as silence fell in their flat.

Sherlock was vaguely aware of Marie's soft footsteps as she padded over to him, and then she was wrapping her arms around him, holding him tightly as she buried her face against his back. Sherlock lowered his violin, holding his bow and the instrument in one hand as he lowered his other to clutch Marie's tightly.

"I… I…" Sherlock began, but his voice finally failed him as he could not hide his true feelings and the agonizing pain in his heart, from the one person who knew and loved him most.

"I know." Was all she said in reply.

They stood for a long time, simply seeking and finding comfort in the other as they remained silent.

At last, Sherlock placed the violin down, before turning to face Marie. He held her gaze for the first time since Mary's death as he leant in close, and Marie kept her eyes fixed on his as Sherlock leaned down and pressed a soft, chaste kiss on her lips.

"I'm sorry." He sighed, and Marie replied as softly: "I am, too. We should have been helping each other, and finding a way to help John…"

She trailed off, while Sherlock bowed his head in glum acknowledgement.

"At least I have you safe." Sherlock murmured. "For just that… I am grateful."

"So am I." Marie answered quietly. "It's the only thing I have to be grateful for after that night, but…"

She trailed off, and Sherlock knew what she didn't have to say. Despite losing Mary, despite that incredible pain that brought to all of them, it was not the worst alternative for Sherlock and Marie.

Marie sighed before glancing down, and her brows pulled together in a frown as her eyes landed on something on Sherlock's desk.

"What is this?" She asked, pointing at the envelope Mrs. Hudson had left for Sherlock, and Sherlock finally looked at it as he began: "Mrs. Hudson brought it… up…"

He trailed off as he also saw something strange, something wrong with the envelope. For one, it was unmarked – highly unlikely if it had been posted – and seemed to have been prepared a little _too_ carefully, all the edges lined perfectly.

Sherlock also frowned as he reached for the envelope, Marie turning with him to look as he opened the envelope and pulled out a single DVD disc from inside.

But Sherlock's jaw locked while Marie's eyes widened as they read the single line written in black letters across the disc label: 'MISS ME?'

"That's-" Marie began, and Sherlock agreed: "Must be."

"But why now?" Marie asked urgently, and Sherlock answered grimly: "I don't know. But we'll find out."

He sat back down at his desk, quickly placing the disc into his laptop as he muttered: "I _knew_ it wouldn't end like this. I _knew_ Moriarty made plans. Vivian Norbury even said 'M' told her that we were coming for her.

"'M'?" Marie repeated sharply, and Sherlock nodded absently as he stared at his screen, waiting for the disc to load.

"She said it was one of her well-paying clients from when she was selling state secrets." Sherlock explained before he glanced at Marie.

"Why? Does it… mean something to you?" Sherlock questioned as he saw Marie's tight-lipped, thoughtful expression.

"It might." Marie admitted, but at that moment, the disc finished loading and began to play automatically.

And both Marie and Sherlock frowned in confusion as Mary's face appeared, the woman smiling into the camera at them and she said as she rolled her eyes a little: "Thought that would get your attention."

Sherlock sat back in shock, while Marie leaned in closer. Their hands intertwined automatically, the couple grounding each other once more as – onscreen - Mary began: "So, this is in case..."

She trailed off, smiling awkwardly at the camera before she went on bravely: "In case 'the day' comes. If you are watching this, I'm... probably dead."

Sherlock just stared silently, while Marie swallowed hard, as Mary continued: "I hope I can have an ordinary life, but who knows? Right Marie?"

She smiled a little, trying to be teasing, and Marie just shook her head at the crazy blonde's attempt at lightheartedness while Mary continued softly: "I know I tried to talk you out of doubt, but we all know I agree with you."

Mary took a deep breath before going on determinedly: "Nothing's certain; nothing's written. My old life… _Our_ old lives," she corrected with a wry smile, "they were full of consequences."

Marie's hand twitched as Mary continued: "The danger was the fun part, but you can't outrun that forever."

She gestured to the camera as she added: "And _you_ need to remember that, Sherlock. Remember and keep Marie safe for me as well."

Marie blinked back tears, as Mary took a deep breath before going on: "And… I'm sorry."

Sherlock squeezed Marie's hand, but Marie frowned slightly in confusion as Mary said almost pleadingly: "Marie, I'm so sorry to ask this of you, and Sherlock."

They both frowned slightly as Mary stated grimly: "I'm giving you a case, Sherlock."

Sherlock leaned forward listening intently, while Marie's eyes widened as Mary said slowly: "Might be the hardest case of your career. When I'm ... gone, _if_ I'm gone… I need you to do something for me."

Sherlock swallowed, while Marie closed her eyes, and a tear shed down the side of her face as Mary made her final request.

"Save John Watson." Mary whispered at the end. "Save him, Sherlock."

Marie looked at Sherlock, different emotions warring across her face as Sherlock sat, his hands clasped before him, while Mary's last pleas echoed in their minds.

" _Save him."_

* * *

Sherlock walked alone along the south bank of the Thames. He needed to make his decision, and he needed to do it alone this time.

As Sherlock stared out into the river, he thought to himself: ' _When does the path we walk on lock around our feet? When does the road become a river with only one destination?'_

Sherlock turned away from the river, walking on as he made his decision while he thought to himself: ' _Death waits for us all in Samarra. But can Samarra be avoided?'_

As Sherlock walked away grimly, he remembered Mary on camera, staring right at him as she said with utmost seriousness:

"Go to Hell, Sherlock."


	15. Beyond Repair

_Two months later_

"Oh, look at you!" Marie cheered as Scottie pulled himself up onto his two legs, using the side of the sofa to remain upright.

He'd started crawling recently, and the two twins were often causing chaos and laughter at the Holmes residence as they crawled about everything, getting underneath their grandparents' feet. Not that Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were complaining.

"Come on, Scottie. Come to mama, my precious." Marie encouraged, holding her hands out wide towards Scottie as the child dithered. "Come on."

Scottie waved his hand towards her, reaching for her, but unwilling to give up his hold on the safety of the sofa as he stared at his mother. Marie remained where she was, a few feet away, bent on her knees as she held out her hands.

"Come on, Scottie." She encouraged.

Scottie wavered before he took a ginger step forward. He almost toppled over instantly, but reached back to grab the sofa for support once more, remaining upright though his face scrunched up in annoyance.

' _He looks so much like his father when he does that._ ' Marie mused, before shaking the thought from her head. Best not think about him.

Marie was broken from her thoughts as Scottie abruptly decided he was ready and – pushing himself off the sofa for good measure – took the few stumbling steps towards his mother.

He pitched forward at the end, but Marie deftly caught him, beaming as she praised: "Oh, good boy! Oh, Scottie, well done!"

He gurgled happily, giggling as he fisted Marie's shirt in his small hands. Marie grinned, proud that Scottie was finally also taking his first steps. And, while he'd done it later than Sheryl, he had managed to make it to Marie's arms… more or less. Poor Sheryl had fallen back on her little bottom not two steps away from the sofa on her try.

Though she hadn't cried; instead, her little face had scrunched up in irritation, just like Sherlock's did when something didn't go his way, as she wailed dryly in annoyance at her own limitations. It had amused Marie and Mrs. Holmes to no end, especially when Sheryl tried to get back onto her shaky feet with a look of utmost determination.

"Mamama." Scottie announced to Marie, and she broke from her reminiscence to smile at him.

"All right, let's go get your sister and feed you both." Marie agreed. "Chérie's probably fed up with her grandparents by now anyway."

It amused and exasperated Marie to see her children had apparently inherited Sherlock's disdain of his parents – or rather, of their normality. The twins would only put up with their grandparents' excessive cooing for an hour at a time, after which they cried out once in irritability.

It had delighted Sherlock the first time they'd introduced the twins to his parents, and it seemed that the twins either remembered this encouragement even though Sherlock wasn't here. That, or they really did take after their parents a little too well – particularly their father.

It was as this thought was crossing Marie's mind while she crossed the threshold into the sitting room, when she heard Sheryl's irritable cry: "Bo'ed!"

"Yes, yes, you're bored." Marie sighed, giving Mr. Holmes an apologetic look as she walked over to her daughter, who had been sitting on the floor while her grandparents attempted to entertain her with storybooks.

Sheryl brightened considerably when she spotted her mother and her twin brother in her mother's arms, and she wobbled her way over to Marie. Marie chuckled, scooping up her daughter as she praised: "Ooh, Chérie, you'll be walking about soon!"

"Yes, and then they'll be right terrors." Mrs. Holmes chuckled as she stood up to join her daughter-in-law and grandchildren. "Running around everywhere and falling over at the slightest opportunity."

"Were your children like that?" Marie asked with a soft smile, and Mrs. Holmes's smile was tinged with a slight sorrow as she replied: "Somewhat."

Marie just smiled kindly, when Scottie interrupted impatiently: "Bo'ed!"

"Yes, all right." Marie rolled her eyes. "I almost want to kill Sherlock for teaching you two that word."

"How is he?" Mrs. Holmes questioned. "What could possibly have kept him so busy that he hasn't come to visit you and the children for two months?"

"It's just a delicate case." Marie explained evasively. "And the twins are too young; but I'm sure he'll be back soon."

' _He'd better be._ ' She added more sourly in her mind, suppressing her scowl. Mrs. Holmes sighed.

"Well, he's missing out on so much." She noted, gesturing to the twins, who were growing and changing every day. Marie just smiled lightly, shrugging noncommittally.

"Dadadada." Sheryl said, and Scottie agreed: "Dadada."

"Yes, your daddy'll be here soon." Marie almost sighed, before she forced herself to brighten again. "Now, who's ready for food?"

"Mamama!" The twins cheered, and Mrs. Holmes and Mr. Holmes chuckled as Marie led the twins off, agreeing: "Yes, yes. Food."

* * *

Marie sighed as she watched her children sleeping in their cots in the spare bedroom that Mr. and Mrs. Holmes had kindly offered after Marie had arranged for her children to spend time at the Holmes residence.

With the way Sherlock had been behaving ever since Mary's death, well… it was no place for the children. He'd been incredibly doped almost every hour of every day for a week before Marie made the decision to leave 221B. The worst wasn't even when he was so out of it he barely recognized her – for Marie kept him locked out of their bedroom and the twins safely inside while Sherlock rolled around the sitting room floor. No, the worst was when he was incredibly high.

And Marie certainly didn't want her children seeing their father in the state that he had reduced himself to.

' _Let's not think about, don't think about it._ ' Marie told herself, massaging her throbbing temples.

With a sigh, she turned to the open laptop on her desk, settling herself down for another long night.

* * *

 _One month later_

Marie's phone rang and she groaned.

Very few people had her number, and she could strike two off the list of potential callers immediately. John wouldn't, and Sherlock wouldn't dare after the way she'd walked out three months ago. Given the time of night, she also highly doubted it was Mrs. Hudson, Molly, or Lestrade. Which only left one person.

"What, Mycroft?" Marie asked more than a little curtly as she answered her phone, and he answered in his normal, emotionless tone: "Good evening, dear _sister._ "

"If you're going to be patronizing, I'm going to hang up." Marie warned, and Mycroft exhaled sharply.

"I merely thought I should inform you that Sherlock has left your - _his_ flat." Mycroft replied smoothly, and Marie snorted inelegantly.

"Thank you, Mycroft." Marie said, sarcasm dripping off her every word. "What else have you got for me? A list of his groceries?"

"It's the first time he's left in _weeks._ " Mycroft said severely. "The last time he left the flat was after you left and he went to purchase even more of his… substances."

"Really? 'Substances'?" Marie mocked, and Mycroft exhaled once more in irritation.

"Why are you doing this, Marie?" He asked at last, sounding thoroughly annoyed and exasperated. "Who are you trying to fool? Me, or yourself, or Sherlock?"

"I don't know what you're trying to say." Marie replied flatly, though there was the slightest edge to her voice, a tone of warning.

"Sherlock gone rogue is a legitimate security concern." Mycroft reminded her severely. "And I thought the whole reason you made your request to myself was because you wanted Sherlock safe."

"I _do_ want him safe." She replied testily. "But I also want my children safe, Mycroft."

"Then leave them with my parents." Mycroft said impatiently. "I will ensure they are carefully watched over; I need you to go in."

"You're not my boss anymore." Marie sneered. "I retired, remember?"

"You and John are the only people he will listen to." Mycroft returned. "And since Dr. Watson insists on being as difficult as you seem intent on being, I am calling you back in. Just _speak_ with my brother."

"I'm not going, Mycroft." Marie snapped. "If Sherlock was going to listen to me, he would've done it before I walked out three months ago. Instead, he's still higher than any kite, and I have children to take care of."

"I cannot contain his every outburst." Mycroft reminded sharply. "The fact that I am his brother changes _nothing._ I've explained to you before, _warned_ you." Marie's eyes narrowed. "When I offered you your retirement from the secret services, I warned you about what happened before."

"Goodbye, Mycroft." Marie answered severely, but Mycroft wasn't done as he said coldly: "I believe I was quite clear about Sherrinford."

"You were." Marie snapped, and Mycroft replied evenly: "Then if you ' _love'_ Sherlock as you so claim – stop him. Before he is stopped."

She hung up on him.

* * *

 _Three weeks later_

Marie cooed at Sheryl while Scottie gurgled happily as he walked about her legs and using her leg to balance himself whenever he felt himself wobble unstably while Marie changed Sheryl's diaper.

The twins were so carefree, she thought with a sad sigh. Not needing to worry about their idiot father, not knowing their mother's heavy heart though it had been slightly lifted the past two weeks after…

Marie's phone rang.

Closing her eyes irritably, Marie counted to ten before looking down at her phone. But when she saw who the caller was, she was moving instantly, grabbing little Scott while pulling the freshly change Sheryl into her other arm.

"Wanda! Tim!" Marie yelled for the elder Holmes couple as she ran.

* * *

 _Some minutes later_

 _The Diogenes Club_

"Mr. Holmes."

Mycroft looked up from his paperwork, raising a brow as Anthea held out a tablet device.

"The younger Mrs. Holmes has left your family cottage."

Both Mycroft's brows shot up at that, and he took the tablet as he wondered aloud: "What has made my _dear_ sister-in-law change her mind about not leaving?"

"We're not certain yet." Anthea admitted. "Although, we did track a signal from Mrs. Hudson's mobile to Mrs. Holmes's mobile a few minutes ago. Our people are tracking the car she's driving right now, as you can see on that screen, but I'm told she's driving in a strange pattern."

"What-? Oh." Mycroft exhaled in exasperation as he stared at the tablet screen. It showed the basic roadmap of the area just outside London, and the red line that was tracking Marie's route on the roads.

She was indeed driving in an unconventional pattern but it wasn't hard to tell what she was doing when Mycroft was staring at the red lines on his screen, which connected to form just two words: F*CK U

"I see why she married my brother." Mycroft commented dryly, thinking back to just three weeks ago when Sherlock had done almost exactly the same thing. "She's remarkably similar to my brother… only sans drug habit."

"What would you like me to do?" Anthea questioned, and Mycroft answered as he sat back in his chair: "Get me on the phone with Marie – I have a feeling I will need to step in, again, to prevent her from being fined at the speed she appears to be going at."

It was at that moment that his phone rang while Anthea's beeped. Anthea swiftly handed his to him while simultaneously checking the message she'd received, and she informed Mycroft: "The call is from Mrs. Hudson… and we've just received word that Sherlock Holmes has been carried out of his flat."

Mycroft groaned.

* * *

 _A few minutes later_

 _Outside John's therapist's house_

John stood just outside the doorway to his new therapist's house, staring at the chaos that had appeared in the matter of a few seconds.

A red, Aston Martin was parked in the driveway, engines still revving and 'Ode to Joy' blasting from inside, while police sirens blared as two cop cars drove up behind the sports car. And high above, a helicopter whirred as it flew just over their heads, clearly having been following the sports car.

As John stared around incredulously, his therapist said uncertainly as she also stared about from her doorway: "Well, now… won't you introduce me?"

Just then the driver of the sports car opened the door and a very familiar figure stepped out.

John's jaw dropped and he blinked as Mrs. Hudson sighed deeply, closing the door and turning to John with a smile and look of utter relief on her face.

John gaped, as Mrs. Hudson started towards him, when one of the police officers called sharply as he too stepped out of his vehicle: "Right, you there. Stop right where you are."

"Huh?" Mrs. Hudson asked, glancing over in confusion. "What?"

She paused momentarily to look at the officer before turning away, ignoring him as she walked up to John, saying in a mixture of relief and aggravation: "Oh, John..."

"Mrs. Hudson..." John began as he also took a numb step towards the elderly lady, when the police officer demanded as he walked up: "Do you have any idea what speed you were going at?"

Mrs. Hudson turned to the man once more as she answered with a scoff: "Well, of course not, I was on the phone. Oh," she looked down as she remembered and held out her still open mobile to the officer, "it's for you, by the way."

"For me?" The man asked, confused, as he automatically took the mobile, but Mrs. Hudson turned away again as she said impatiently: "It's the government."

She waved him off as she walked over to John, while the officer answered the phone as he mumbled: "The what? Hello?"

"My name is Mycroft Holmes," a voice replied from the other end of the line, "and I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Office."

The officer's face instantly paled and he quickly removed his cap, holding it politely at his side while he listened to Mycroft.

In the meantime, John had taken Mrs. Hudson's hands, asking worriedly: "Look at the state of you! Mrs. H, what's happened?"

"It's Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson answered brokenly, before breaking down into tears and hugging John tightly as she wailed: "You've no idea what I've been through!"

* * *

 _Earlier that morning_

 _221 Baker Street_

Mrs. Hudson slowly crept up the stairs from her flat door, making her way nervously up towards Sherlock's flat where she could hear various cries and angry outbursts from Sherlock, accompanied by bangs and crashes as objects were flung about.

Just as she made it to the turn of the stairs, Billy Wiggins came running out of the kitchen, rushing down the stairs in a clear panic.

Mrs. Hudson gasped in surprise as she moved out of the way for the younger man, who had been looking after Sherlock (in the loosest sense of the word) since Marie's departure, as the man said: "I'm out of 'ere."

He paused at the half-landing, pointing back up the stairs to where they could hear Sherlock as he told Mrs. Hudson fearfully: "I don't care if Mrs. 'olmes asked me te stay and look after him, 'e's lost it."

" _Where is it_?!" Sherlock could be heard shouting inside his flat, and Billy yelled for Sherlock to hear before he ran away: "'e's totally gone!"

Mrs. Hudson cringed as Billy left the flat, while Sherlock let out a triumphant cry upstairs.

In his flat, Sherlock came charging out from the kitchen and into his living room, wearing his dark blue dressing gown over his black shirt and trousers while he wielded a large pistol as he shouted dramatically while striding around like a maniac: "'Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more!'"

All over the flat were hundreds of photographs of entrepreneur Culverton Smith, stuck to the walls, scattered on every available surface, and strung to pieces of string around the room like little laundry lines. Mrs. Hudson slowly made her way closer while Sherlock continued raving as he jumped onto the sofa: "'Or close the wall up with our English dead'!"

He whirled around, stepping back onto the floor as he hissed: "' _S_ et the teeth and stretch the nostril wide'."

He whirled again, kicking the flat door closed before storming across the room as he recited: " _'_ Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit to his full height'!"

He grabbed one of the photographs, scrunching it up in his hands and throwing it as he shouted: " _'_ On, on, you noblest English whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof'!"

Sherlock suddenly pointed his pistol at the wall behind the sofa, holding it in both hands as he snarled: " _'_ And _you_ , good yeoman, whose limbs were made in England, show us _here_ the mettle of your pasture'!"

He stalked into the kitchen next, as Mrs. Hudson carefully ducked her way into the living room, and Sherlock shouted: "'Which I doubt _not_ , for there is none of you so mean and base, that hath not noble lustre in your eyes!"

Mrs. Hudson peaked around the doorway into the kitchen where Sherlock continued twirling and pacing and spitting: "'I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, straining upon the start'!"

He stepped back out into the living room, aiming his pistol and firing it violently at the back wall, just missing hitting Mrs. Hudson as she ducked out of the way and closed the flat door quickly. Sherlock fired five times in quick succession, shooting holes in various photos of Smith scattered around the room before glaring at the wall with crazy eyes.

"'The game's afoot'." Sherlock hissed, breathing heavily, as Mrs. Hudson slowly opened the door once more and peeked around carefully.

"Oh, hello." Sherlock greeted casually, and all too calmly considering his manic antics just seconds before.

Mrs. Hudson stared at him as Sherlock sniffed, blinking hard as though having trouble focusing his eyes, before he asked nonchalantly: "Can I have a cup of tea?"

And with that, he turned and walked back into the kitchen.

*A/N I bet you can guess where I pulled the elder Mr. and Mrs. Holmes's first names from!


	16. Culverton Smith

_Present_

 _John's therapist's house_

"Did you call the police?" John questioned as he led Mrs. Hudson back inside the house, and Mrs. Hudson snapped as she followed him: "Of course I didn't call the police. I'm not a civilian!"

* * *

 _Earlier that morning_

 _221B Baker Street_

Sherlock twirled and paced about his living room, tearing at some of the photographs as he went, before clutching his head in frustration with his pistol still in one hand.

"These pictures..." Mrs. Hudson began uncertainly from where she was standing in the kitchen, pouring tea from the teapot she'd managed to scrounge up from the chaotic mess lying around the whole kitchen "They're that man on the telly, aren't they?"

"What pictures?" Sherlock demanded as he paced around anxiously, and Mrs. Hudson looked up nervously as she said tentatively: "They're everywhere."

She placed down the teapot, picking up the teacup in its saucer shakily while Sherlock gestured wildly around the room with his hands as he said: "Oh, _these_ pictures! Oh, you can see them too."

He pointed at her with his gun as he continued: "That's good."

He then turned away, swaying worryingly as he stared at a few of the photographs, looking at various ones in particular as they jumped out in his frenzied brain while he clutched at his head with his hands again.

* * *

 _Present_

 _John's therapist's house_

"Culverton Smith."

John's therapist showed John her laptop, where she'd opened the search page for the billionaire entrepreneur that Mrs. Hudson reported Sherlock had apparently been inexplicably obsessed with.

John leaned in to look as his therapist peered at the screen, pushing up her glasses on her nose as she scrolled down the page before murmuring: "This, I think, is relevant from this morning. "

She clicked on the top news story of the day, which read: 'He's a serial killer!'

"He's publicly accused Mr. Smith of being a serial killer." She read as she opened the page, which showed a picture of Sherlock in his deerstalker mashed next to a picture of Culverton Smith. Under the heading, read the caption: 'Net detective blasts Culverton Smith on Twitter'. Below that, the articles key statements were bulleted, reading: 'Defamatory remark goes viral on social networking site' and 'Media tycoon yet to comment'.

"Christ!" John muttered as he stared at the screen. "Sherlock on Twitter. He really _has_ lost it."

"Don't you _dare_ make jokes." Mrs. Hudson interjected, cross and distressed. "Don't you _dare_! I was terrified!

* * *

 _A few hours previously_

 _221B Baker Street_

Sherlock stood, facing the sitting room as Mrs. Hudson stood trembling with the cup of tea, staring at Sherlock in a mix of worry and fear. He was making strange gestures and motions with his hands, at thin air… while still holding his gun in his hand, when he called through grit teeth: "Cup of tea!"

Mrs. Hudson flinched, as Sherlock spun around to face her and he rolled his eyes at her as he snapped: "Oh, for goodness' sakes."

Mrs. Hudson was staring at him, her hands shaking so badly half the tea had spilled over already, while she slowly took a step back in utter fear.

"What's the _matter_ with you?" Sherlock demanded as he stormed into the kitchen, unsympathetic in his drugged state as he shook his own hands and mocked irritably: "Are you having an earthquake?!"

Mrs. Hudson flinched again, before at last she dropped the cup and saucer in her hand…

* * *

 _Present_

 _John's therapist's house_

"You need to see him, John." Mrs. Hudson pleaded as she looked at John beseechingly. "You need to _help_ him!"

"Nope." John replied flatly, shaking his head, and Mrs. Hudson cried frantically: "He _needs_ you!"

"No, he needs Marie, he needs his _own_ wife." John answered flatly. "Not me. Not now… not ever."

He turned away from Mrs. Hudson, only to freeze as he saw the vision of Mary that haunted him so often at his house, at his work… everywhere.

She was leaning almost casually against the wall as she gave him a raised-brow look, and John hesitated, while Mrs. Hudson stormed up as she snapped: "Now you just listen to me for once in your stupid life. I _know_ Mary's dead and I _know_ your heart is broken," her voice broke as well, "but if Sherlock Holmes dies too, who will you have then?"

John opened his mouth, brows furrowed, but Mrs. Hudson cut in as she jabbed a finger at him: "Because I tell you something, John Watson. You will not have Rose-Marie anymore, and you will _not_ have me!"

With that, she stormed out of the house, clearly distressed and near tears, and John watched her go, his eyes resting once more on the vision of Mary. She jerked her head after Mrs. Hudson, giving John a pointed look. John paused before resignedly stomping out after Mrs. Hudon, missing the smile that appeared on Mary's face as he did.

John stepped out of his therapist's house, wincing as he saw Mrs. Hudson leaning against the top of her car, weeping loudly. She was alone now, the cops and the helicopter nowhere to be seen, and John sighed as he carefully approached the heartbroken landlady.

"Have you spoken to Marie?" John asked tentatively, and Mrs. Hudson wept: "She left after Sherlock fell back into drugs when Mary died. Said she didn't want him near the children, and I don't blame her."

John winced, before he cleared his throat and tried instead: "Well, have you spoken to Mycroft, Molly, uh, anyone?"

"They don't matter." Mrs. Hudson cried. "You do."

She straightened up at last, her face tear-streaked and crumpled sorrowfully as she pleaded: "Would you just see him? _Please_ , John. Or just take a look at him as a doctor? I know you'd change your mind if you did."

John was already starting to shake his head, but as Mrs. Hudson stared at him beseechingly he gave in slightly as he answered: "Yeah, look, okay, maybe, if I get a chance."

"D'you promise?" Mrs. Hudson asked, brightening up instantly.

John almost winced, but he answered a little evasively but honestly: "I'll try, if I'm in the area."

"Promise me?" Mrs. Hudson wheedled, turning up the charm, and John gave in as he answered: "I promise."

"Thank you!" Mrs. Hudson beamed before turning and striding purposefully towards the back of her car. John frowned slightly, confused, as Mrs. Hudson popped open the boot of her car to reveal… Sherlock Holmes.

John – who stepped around to look – felt his mouth part slightly as he stared at not only his former best friend's wild, swiveling eyes and clearly unkept appearance with the greasy hair and days-old stubble; but also at the manacles that kept Sherlock's hands bound before his chest.

"Well?" Mrs. Hudson said expectantly as Sherlock squinted up at them against the sudden light. "On you go. Examine him!"

John could only shoot Mrs. Hudson a look before looking back in the boot incredulously, as the detective himself started to wriggle his way out, throwing an unsteady leg over the side of the boot while poking his head up and out.

* * *

 _Earlier that morning_

 _221B Baker Street_

As the teacup and saucer fell from Mrs. Hudson's trembling hands, Sherlock moved at lightning speed – quite remarkable given his state – to drop his pistol on the kitchen table before stooping down to catch the saucer and cup before it could smash on the floor.

But, what was probably more remarkable was Mrs. Hudson, who had used Sherlock's momentary distraction to snatch up the pistol from the table. By the time Sherlock had straightened up with the cup of tea and saucer – shaking once again as he fought the effects of the many drugs he had taken – Mrs. Hudson had the pistol cocked and pointed right at Sherlock's chest.

"Right, then, mister." Mrs. Hudson stated grimly while Sherlock started slightly at the sight of the gun pointed right at him. "Now, I need your handcuffs. I happen to know there's a pair in the salad drawer."

She paused, before she added with a small half-shrug: _"_ I've borrowed them before."

Sherlock stared at her, his brain still trying to process what he was seeing even as his face scrunched up in indignation, but Mrs. Hudson answered sharply: "Oh, get over yourself. You're not my first smackhead, Sherlock Holmes."

* * *

 _Present_

 _John's therapist's house_

John threw open his therapist's front door, standing aside to let Sherlock through as the consulting detective staggered inside, rubbing his wrist where the handcuff had evidently dug into it.

"The woman's out of control." Sherlock hissed as he walked inside, glaring around wildly. "I asked for a cup of tea!"

His eyes suddenly fell on the glass vase of flowers sitting on the entrance hall cabinet, and he grabbed it as John, followed by Mrs. Hudson, also walked inside. Sherlock removed the flowers from their vase as he walked further inside the house, while John turned to Mrs. Hudson and asked in a mix of incredulity and curiosity: "How did you get him in the boot?"

"The boys from the café." She explained, and Sherlock spun back around to spit out harshly: "They dropped me. Twice!"

He turned back around, heading inside the kitchen as he drank the water from the vase while Mrs. Hudson snapped back: "And d'you know why they dropped you, dear? Because they _know_ you."

Sherlock ignored her as he dropped the flowers onto the breakfast bar while he took another gulp of water from the vase, and Mrs. Hudson added: "They probably spared you a third time because they do actually like Marie."

Sherlock grimaced, though it was debatable whether it was at the mention of his missing wife or the dank water he was drinking, before he abruptly pointed and asked: "Who's this one?"

John's therapist looked over, startled, while she held a mobile to her ear, as Sherlock added, looking to John: "Is this a new person? I'm against new people."

"Excuse me for a moment." John's therapist murmured into her phone, before lowering it as Sherlock took another drink from the vase.

"She's my therapist." John answered Sherlock shortly, and the taller man declared while walking over to the new woman: "Awesome! D'you do block bookings?"

John, meanwhile, had turned back to Mrs. Hudson and he asked as he gestured to the Aston Martin: "Whose car is that?"

Mrs. Hudson glanced over before looking back at John as she answered with a hint of confusion at the obvious answer: "That's my car."

"How can that be your car?!" John demanded, and Mrs. Hudson exclaimed: "Oh, for God's sake! I'm the widow of a drug dealer, I own property in central London, and for the last bloody time, John, I'm not your housekeeper!"

And with that, she walked to the front door, closing it firmly and leaving a gobsmacked John behind. Sherlock had made himself comfortable on one of the living room chairs, while John's therapist hesitantly walked over to John, holding out his mobile as she explained: "I'm so sorry. I answered your phone. You were busy. I think you'll want to take it."

John took the phone, confused, and he asked: "Uh, yes, hello?"

"Is this Doctor John Watson?" A male voice questioned, and John's frown deepened as he answered: "Yeah. Who's this?"

"Culverton Smith." The man replied smoothly. "You've probably heard of me."

"Oh, well," John answered hesitantly as he stared at his therapist's still open laptop on the table across from him, "yes."

"Get me a fresh glass of water, please." Sherlock suddenly piped up, waving his nearly empty vase around. "This one's filthy."

John's temple throbbed and he moved further into the entrance hall for some privacy as Culverton Smith said into the phone: "I mean, I'm aware of this morning's developments."

Sherlock groaned in the sitting room as John's therapist took the empty vase from him, taking the consulting detective's strange antics well, while John said apologetically into his phone: "Yes. I'm sure he was being ... hilarious. Sorry, did you say _all_ still meeting?"

John abruptly changed topics, frowning in confusion, and Smith explained: "You, me, and Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. I've sent a car; should be outside. Mr. Holmes gave me an address."

John's brows furrowed as he answered: "Well, he couldn't have given you this one. And sorry, did you say Mrs.-?"

He broke off as the doorbell rang.

John turned, and slowly opened the front door to find a well-dressed man outside, who greeted politely: "When you're ready."

John stared at the man for a moment before glancing out to see a black limo parked on the curb. His mouth falling open, John looked back at the driver, managing a small nod, before he slammed the door shut once more and demanded into the phone: "When did Sherlock give you this address?"

"Two weeks ago." Smith replied, and John repeated incredulously as he walked into the house: "Two weeks?"

"Yes. Two weeks." Smith sounded a little confused, and John fumed. Hanging up on Smith, John walked into the kitchen, where Mrs. Hudson was busily cleaning up the sink out of habit.

"How did you know where to find me?" John demanded, and Mrs. Hudson looked up with surprise.

"Oh, Sherlock told me." She answered easily. "He's not so difficult when you've got a gun on him. I wonder if that was Rose-Marie's trick."

John turned, hesitating for a brief moment, before he stalked into the sitting room where Sherlock was now slumped back in the patient's consulting chair, looking like he'd fallen asleep while John's therapist placed a glass of water beside the consulting detective.

"How did you know?" John demanded loudly as he walked in, waking Sherlock with a start. "How? On Monday I decided to get a new therapist. Tuesday afternoon, I chose her. "

He pointed at his new therapist, who had settled quietly into her consulting chair, while Sherlock just lazily leaned his head on his fingers, propping his elbow on the arm of his chair as John ranted: "Wednesday morning I booked today's session. Now, today is Friday."

Mrs. Hudson appeared uncertainly in the doorway as John continued, his voice rising: "So two weeks ago – two weeks before you were abducted at gunpoint and brought here against your will," Sherlock was frowning as though he was finding it hard to keep up with John's rant, "over a week before _I_ even thought of coming here, you knew exactly where you'd need to be picked up for lunch?!"

John glared at his former best friend, and Sherlock grimaced as he answered calmly: "Really? I correctly anticipated the responses of people I know well to scenarios I devised? Can't everyone do that?"

John's jaw had dropped while Mrs. Hudson asked incredulously: "How?"

"Except the boot." Sherlock added, pointing at Mrs. Hudson as he gave her a withering look. "The boot was _mean_."

Mrs. Hudson pursed her lips while John muttered to her: "Never mind _how_. He's dying to tell us that."

He turned back to Sherlock as he hissed: "I want to know _why_."

"Because Mrs. Hudson's right." Sherlock bit out, looking like the admission physically hurt him. "I'm burning up."

John's eyes narrowed and he gazed silently at his friend as Sherlock said slowly: "I'm lost. I've lost you, I lost Mary," John's eye twitched but he listened silently, "and, and I lost Marie as well."

Sherlock took a deep breath as he continued: "I'm at the bottom of a pit, and I'm still falling and," he shook his head, "I'm _never_ climbing out."

Mrs. Hudson pursed her lips, her face drawing with sorrow as she turned away and walked back into the kitchen, but John remained unmoved as Sherlock stood up and said beseeching: "But even with all that, I need you to know, John – I need you to see that up here."

He gestured to the sides of his temples with both of his shaking hands as he continued urgently: "I've still got it, so when I tell you that _this_ ," he staggered to lean on the table to point at the picture of Smith on the laptop screen, "is the most dangerous, the most _despicable_ human being that I have _ever_ encountered; when I tell you that this-this _monster must_ be ended, _please_ remember where you're standing, because…"

Sherlock took a deep breath before finished as he pointed at John: "You're standing _exactly_ where I said you would be two weeks ago."

John's brows furrowed and his lips pursed, while Sherlock fell into the chair beside the table, grimacing with pain.

"I'm a mess." Sherlock admitted in a quiet voice. "I'm in hell; but I am _not_ wrong, not about him."

He pointed again at the laptop screen, and John finally interrupted, folding his arms across his chest: "So what has all this got to do with me?"


	17. Predictable

He gave a mirthless smile at his former best friend, challenging the younger man, and Sherlock rose to the bait.

"That creature," Sherlock spat viciously as he pointed again at Smith's photo, "that rotting _thing_ , is a living breathing coagulation of human evil, and if the only thing I ever do in this world is drive him out of it, then my life will not have been wasted."

Sherlock paused to take a deep breath, before looking up at John. The blond man was still looking skeptical, staring at Sherlock with his head tilted to one side as Sherlock begged insistently: " _Look_ at me."

He took a shaky breath as he admitted: "Can't do it, not now. Not alone."

Sherlock looked away, his eyes slightly teary, and he swallowed heavily as he fought both his unusually heightened emotions and the effects of the drugs on his body. John examined Sherlock for another moment before he sighed and unfolded his arms.

Holding his right hand out towards Sherlock, John waited while Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. Standing, Sherlock also let out a small sigh as he grasped John's hand… only for John's other hand to come over and clasp Sherlock's hand and turn his arm over.

Sherlock – seeming unsurprised by this – simply rolled his eyes as John pushed up the younger man's sleeves to reveal the dark marks on the inside of Sherlock's arm.

"Yeah, well," John muttered as he released Sherlock's arm with a sharp breath, "they're real enough, I suppose."

"Why would I be faking?" Sherlock muttered, turning away, and John answered loudly and just a little sharply: "Because you're a liar."

At that, Sherlock turned back to him, his own eyes narrowed slightly as John pointed out sharply: "You lie all the time. It's like your mission."

"I have been many things, John," Sherlock retorted, "but when I _ever_ been a malingerer?"

"You pretended to be dead for two years!" John shouted back, his eyes flashing as his temper flared.

Sherlock paused for a moment, before he tried: "Apart from that?"

John threw up his hands, turning away as he demanded: "Where's Marie?"

Sherlock didn't reply immediately, and John turned back to him as he said: "Smith seemed to think she was going to be there-"

He was interrupted as a loud knocking – banging more like – sounded from the front door.

John paused before his eyes narrowed as Sherlock exhaled sharply, looking between a mix of apologetic and apprehensive.

His jaw locking, John turned and stalked to the front door where the banging was continuing insistently as Marie hammered on the door, impatient and annoyed.

"Where is he?" Marie almost snarled when John opened the door.

John blinked, surprised.

First, there was the car behind Marie – a dark Jaguar sports car that he was certain couldn't belong to the woman… could it? Then, he felt a strange guilty twinge as his eyes fell on something around her neck. Marie was no longer wearing her wedding ring on her finger but on a necklace hanging from her neck… the way many widows wore them.

"John, where's Sherlock?" Marie demanded sharply, and John shook himself.

"He's… he's inside." John answered slowly, before adding incredulously: "What are you doing here?"

"Sherlock called me, two weeks ago, to tell me to come here if Mrs. Hudson ever called me." Marie answered flatly.

"Two weeks…" John sighed, and Marie sniped: "Yes. I'm assuming you've noticed a trend."

"Why… _how?!_ " John began, before he switched questions as he demanded: "Why are you even here? I heard you walked out after-."

"Well, since he seems intent on _dying_ ," Marie snarled, her eyes zeroing in inside the house where she knew Sherlock could hear her, "I figured I'd help him on his way to hell."

"You don't mean that." John frowned, just as Sherlock appeared in the doorway at the end of the entrance hall.

Marie's gaze darkened, her green eyes filled with anger as she took in his disheveled state, while Sherlock told John as he leaned painfully against the kitchen doorway: "Oh, I think she does. She did warn me when she left that she never wanted to see me again until I 'cleaned my sh*t up', or else she'd kill me herself."

John started, staring between the two uneasily as Marie glowered at Sherlock, while she snapped: "But apparently, that meant nothing to you."

"Marie-" Sherlock began, but she cut across him as she thundered: "I told you then, and I'm saying it again – I'm _not_ your pet, to be at your beck and call!"

Marie strode into the entrance hall, letting the door slam shut behind her as she snarled at Sherlock: "Do I look easy to you?"

"Of course not." Sherlock said quietly, appearing calm but his eyes gave him away – they were uncertain, regretful, and filled with grief.

It was those eyes that made John hesitate and – for the first time – actually think that Sherlock may be telling the truth.

"Oh, so you just really do have a death wish." Marie said to Sherlock sarcastically, her green eyes looking like emeralds they were so cold.

"Marie…" Sherlock tried, but she shrugged him off angrily.

John shook his head.

"No, no, stop." John interjected, causing Marie and Sherlock to glance at him, the former still fuming. "You two have tricked me before."

Marie's eyes narrowed into furious slits while Sherlock winced, and John quickly added: "And while I admit, Marie you look really angry, I want another opinion. At least a second doctor's opinion on Sherlock."

"Excuse me?" Marie snapped. "I don't care what you want, John, I don't even want to be here. The _only_ reason I came was because Mrs. Hudson," Marie turned sharp eyes back on Sherlock, "called to say she was _terrified._ Because of you."

Sherlock winced again, but John stated firmly: "Well, in that case, Sherlock could be playing you as well, Marie. So my wish still stands."

Marie was visibly fuming, while Sherlock sighed: "John, this really isn't the time-"

"No, see, there you are trying to avoid what you don't like." John interrupted, shaking his head and reaching into his pocket. "Well, you're not stopping me, Sherlock Holmes - I'm calling the last person you'd ever think of. Molly Hooper."

Sherlock grimaced, while John repeated: "D'you hear me? I said Molly Hooper."

"You're _really_ not gonna like this." Sherlock sighed, cringing just slightly at the withering look Marie sent his way.

John paused, before he asked slowly: "Like what?"

And at that moment, the doorbell rang.

John closed his eyes, exhaling sharply while Marie's eyes narrowed on Sherlock. He just gave her a sheepish, and almost apologetic, grimace, while John turned and opened the door once more.

"Oh, um, hel-hello." Molly stammered in greeting as John just stared at her in resigned exasperation. "Is, uh... I'm sorry, Sh-Sherlock asked me to come."

John looked back to see the ambulance behind Molly, parked behind Mrs. Hudson and Marie's cars, and he sighed again.

"What, two weeks ago?" John asked, and Molly admitted in almost surprise: "Yeah. About two weeks."

John nodded a little, while Sherlock explained as he strode down the hall: "If you'd like to know _how_ I predict the future-"

"Shut up!" Marie hissed at him, at the same time that John snarled furiously: "I don't care how."

"Okay." Sherlock surrendered, raising his hands against the dual wrath shot his way. "Fully equipped ambulance; Molly can examine me on the way. It'll save time."

He stepped up to the doorway, asking: "Ready to go, Molly?"

"Oh, well-" Molly began, glancing at John and Marie uncertainly and apologetically, but Sherlock interrupted bluntly: "Just tell me when to cough."

He gave her a fake smile, before striding out as he added: "Hope you remembered my coat."

"Wh-?" Molly began, but he'd already passed her and was on his way to the ambulance as Marie's eyes flashed dangerously.

"I... Sorry." Molly apologized to the pair in the doorway. "I didn't know that you two were gonna be here. Um, I'm guessing you and Sherlock haven't made up, Marie?"

Marie shook her head curtly, and Molly added hastily: "Um, I have absolutely no idea what's going on-"

"Sherlock's using again." John explained curtly, and Molly's expression fell instantly.

"Oh God." She gasped. "But, um, a-are you sure?"

Mrs. Hudson joined them in the entrance hall as John snapped: "No. It's _Sherlock_. Of _course_ I'm not sure."

"Oh, no, he's definitely using again." Marie interjected icily. "That's why I left Molly – he was so high I couldn't let the twins see him."

"Oh, my God." Molly whispered, giving Marie a sympathetic look while John glanced at Marie almost thoughtfully and a little guiltily. "Oh, well, um…"

"Just examine him." Marie sighed, shaking her head. "John needs the proof, and I might as well start planning Sherlock's funeral date."

She sent Sherlock a glowering look as she spoke, not that the detective could hear her from where he was being strapped down in the back of the ambulance.

Molly could only nod slightly, and she started back to the ambulance with Marie, when John asked: "You're going with?"

"Yes." Marie answered, glancing back. "He's called me here for a reason – I intend to find out what."

"I see." John said slowly, and as Marie turned back around he called again: "Er, wait, Marie."

She glanced back again, looking impatient but waiting for him to speak. And John paused as he glanced again at the black, sleek Jaguar sports car.

"That's…. that's not your car….?" John stammered, and Marie scoffed as she gave the car a distasteful look: "Of course it's not."

"Oh, okay…" John said slowly, and Marie dismissed: "It's one of Mycroft's – one of the cars he keeps at his parents' cottage in cases of emergency."

"Aren't you… uh, going to return it?" John asked slowly, and Marie answered as she stalked after Molly: "No; Mycroft will probably send someone to pick it up soon anyways."

"Oh." John muttered as Marie disappeared into the ambulance with Molly and Sherlock.

John briefly wondered if it was a good idea to let the apparently ex-couple get into the car together – he had the smallest inkling that Marie was in a less than patient mood, and Sherlock could often be insufferable even on his best days.

"Of course it's not a good idea." Mary stated as she appeared beside him. "You know, deep in your heart, that Marie isn't acting – she's genuinely upset with him."

John didn't answer as the doors shut on the ambulance.

* * *

The ambulance pulled up behind the limo that Smith had sent for them, right outside a television broadcast studio.

Marie stormed out the back of the ambulance, throwing the doors open before the staff could even get out of their seats, and she stalked off as John climbed out of the limo.

"Marie?" He called, but she was already shouting back at the ambulance: "You know what, I don't care!"

She glared fiercely, even though her eyes were shimmering with tears as she shouted: "But goddammit, Sherlock Holmes, this isn't a game! And I am _not_ going to stick around for it, not this time! So the next time you call me, it had better be either to tell me you're off the drugs or when you're on your death bed, because I refuse to watch this any longer!"

With that, she strode off, while Molly settled down shakily on the ambulance steps.

"… I'm guessing it wasn't good?" John said tentatively, but Sherlock dismissed as he threw off his dressing gown and reached for his coat: "She's exaggerating – I'm fine."

"Sherlock, I know you care more than that." John said flatly, and Sherlock winced but refused to say any more. And John realized that maybe, things were really as bad as they appeared to be – that, just maybe, this wasn't an act at all.

"Molly?" John asked slowly, and the specialist registrar said flatly: "I've seen healthier people on the slab."

"Yeah but, to be fair, you work with murder victims." Sherlock pointed out. "They tend to be quite young."

"Not funny." Molly hissed. "You could be one of them soon - if you keep taking what you're taking at the rate you're taking it, you've got _weeks_. How, Sherlock, how could you do this?"

Sherlock staggered over to the doorway, and he noted: "I'm worried about you, Molly. You seem very stressed."

"I'm stressed; you're dying." Molly snapped. "And you're ruining Marie with you – can't you see, with your clever deductions, what you're doing to her?"

"She has the children." Sherlock answered, suddenly sounding sober and very, very serious. "She has something to live for."

"And you don't?" John asked while Molly turned away and walked after Marie, going to console her friend as Marie called for a cab.

Sherlock gave John a sad look.

"… Do you live for Rosie?" Sherlock asked, and John's jaw locked. No; no, he didn't. He tried, he tried to be there for his daughter, his daughter who had no parent but him now, but he couldn't. He was failing as a father, he knew that.

And it seemed Sherlock was doing the same, just in a different way – in the only way the detective knew how to escape pain. Even if it pained those around him.

"You wouldn't." John said slowly, but he sounded uncertain. "You wouldn't do this, not to Marie."

"Oh, John." Sherlock sighed, looking away. "Haven't you learnt by now? Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side. I am that losing side this time – I don't know where else I can go, but down. Alone."

He finally raised his gaze to meet John's as he said quietly: "You're right - I wouldn't do this to Marie if I had a choice. But I'd rather go to hell on my own, than drag her down with me."

"So, why call me here, why prepare everything two weeks ago?" John questioned, folding his arms, and Sherlock gestured around them.

"I told you." He reminded his ex-best friend. "This man, this _vile_ creature – he needs to be stopped. I cannot do it alone, and you saw Marie – she won't help me, not when I'm like this, not with the twins to protect. She's expecting me to get better first before she'll help, but she doesn't understand – I _can't_. But you."

Sherlock sighed, and John raised a brow.

"You… I knew, you wouldn't care about that." Sherlock admitted quietly. "You're angry with me, you have every right to be. But that also means you are the only person who can help me right now, because you now see me for what I am, and you know I wouldn't have called you if I didn't think you were key to helping me bring this man down."

John stared at Sherlock silently, examining him, before he exhaled sharply.

"So this is real." He murmured. "You're actually out of control. I thought this was some kind of-"

"What?" Sherlock asked, frowning, and John finished flatly: "Trick."

"'Course it's not a trick." Sherlock answered. "It's a plan."

John frowned, but before he could ask, they were interrupted by Culverton Smith.

"Mr. Holmes!" The short, pudgy man called as he approached, surrounded by his entourage and a whole group of paparazzi and reporters.

"Thirty feet and closing." Sherlock whispered to John quickly. "The most significant undetected serial killer in British criminal history. Help me bring him down."

"What ... what plan?" John asked, bewildered, and Sherlock replied shortly and quietly so they couldn't be overheard: "I'm not telling you."

"Why not?" John demanded, eyeing the billionaire philanthropist getting closer and closer to them.

"Because you won't like it." Sherlock replied, and that was all they could say as Smith called again: "Mr. Holmes!"

And the so-called serial killer arrived beside the pair with a wide smile.

*A/N I'm really sorry guys! I realized as I was going through my files that I'd completely skipped two chapters! O.O Here's the first one that I completely forgot to update, and the next one will be the new chapter 20. Again, so sorry about this!


	18. Say Goodbye

After parting with Molly – the doctor trying her hardest to offer some comforting words to her downhearted and irascible friend – Marie finally climbed out of her cab and stormed into the manor-like building.

Easily by-passing security by giving her name – that bastard must have been watching her – Marie stalked her way deeper inside before throwing open the office door and glaring wrathfully inside.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, my dear sister?" Mycroft asked, brows raised though he didn't look the slightest bit surprised.

Neither was Marie in any mood to entertain him as she demanded, cutting right to the chase: "I need answers."

"Only if you tell me what you have been up to the last month." Mycroft returned, straightening up in his chair.

"I was at your parents' house." Marie reminded him impatiently, but Mycroft scoffed: "Now, dear, you know I'm better than that. I know you have periodically left the house, sometimes for extended days. And unlike my parents, I know you haven't been visiting Sherlock."

"It's none of your business." Marie replied testily, and Mycroft cocked a eyebrow.

"Clearly it's not an affair – despite the new placement of your ring, I know you are loyal to Sherlock and he to you." Mycroft deduced, glancing at the wedding ring around her neck.

"That also means you know what he is up to – I highly doubt it was an impulsive decision brought on by drugs, that had my brother accusing Mr. Smith of being a _serial killer_ … though I suspect you won't share those plans with me."

"Sherlock's business is his own." Marie answered a little coldly. "And, family or not, my business is certainly not yours, Mycroft."

Mycroft's lip curled slightly at the word 'family' but he ignored it for now as he settled back in his chair.

"Very well – I shall listen to your questions." He said almost boredly. "But remember, sister _dear_ ," he leveled a look at her, "I shall choose if, and which, to answer. And they will not come free."

"We can negotiate later." Marie dismissed, though her eyes were fixed on him sharply and Mycroft knew she would attempt to deduce whatever she could from his reactions to her questions. Well, he wouldn't satisfy her-

"Is Sherrinford secure?"

Mycroft frowned, despite his will, at Marie's abrupt question.

"Why do you ask?" He returned slowly, carefully. That was the second time someone had asked him that – and unlike Lady Smallwood, Marie would only ask this if she suspected something.

Marie shrugged non-committedly as she replied: "I asked first."

Mycroft steepled his fingers, looking uncannily like his brother as he examined her from over his clasped hands.

"Sherrinford is secure." He answered at last, only to raised a brow as Marie fired back swiftly: "Are you certain?"

"What is it you suspect?" He asked at last, leaning forward, and Marie pursed her lips.

"We had a deal." Mycroft reminded her as he saw her hesitation. "I swore to uphold my end – naturally, you must uphold your own as well."

Marie gazed at him silently, weighing her options for a moment.

"There was something Sherlock said, between arguing, when I saw him earlier today." She explained at last, speaking slowly and thoughtfully.

Mycroft cocked his head, silently asking for more detail, and Marie explained: "He said he'd met Culverton Smith's daughter, Faith Smith. But something doesn't seem right about his story."

"Such as?" Mycroft prompted, and Marie paused.

"He said," she revealed rather reluctantly, "Sherlock said that the woman 'disappeared'. She didn't leave, she _disappeared_."

Mycroft pursed his lips, as Marie continued; "That was the night you called me about Sherlock's little trip outdoors – and you apparently had no idea who he was with that night."

"How do you know that?" Mycroft enquired, and Marie snorted.

"Seriously?" She asked, raising her brows at her brother-in-law. "You wouldn't have been so worried if you knew who he'd been with that night. You also would have mentioned it to me if you knew. Thus, conclusion: you didn't know, you didn't have a visual."

She paused before adding with a shrug: "Maybe that means Sherlock was high and imagined the whole encounter – but it could also mean something else."

She gave Mycroft a meaningful look, and Mycroft exhaled sharply.

"Sherrinford _is_ secure." Mycroft stated coldly, staring Marie right in the eye. "I guarantee it."

"Well then, let's hope for both of our sake's that you're right." Marie retorted, her green eyes narrowed just slightly.

Mycroft just gazed back at her coolly.

"Is that all?" He queried, and Marie shook her head.

"I need information." Marie explained. "About a certain therapist…"

At that, Mycroft's eyebrows rose once more.

"And what are you willing to exchange for your request this time?" He countered, and Marie's lip curled into a sneer, even as she took a deep breath and opened her mouth to answer.

* * *

Marie walked slowly into 221B Baker Street, taking in the mess. And she didn't mean the usual chaos that was generally her home.

Taped and strung from every inch of wall space that Sherlock had clearly been able to get his hands on, were pictures of Culverton Smith. Honestly, Marie wasn't sure if she should be glad he at least had the energy and sense to do it, or if she should be worried by the way many were crumpled and thrown down in clearly fitful rage…

She sighed.

The kitchen was also in a terrible mess of chemistry tools and drugs strewn across the tabletop. It was probably a good thing she'd had Greg agree not to come by since Mary's death – the DI didn't need to be placed in the awkward position of either being a police officer who overlooked illegal drugs or of arresting Sherlock Holmes.

Taking a deep breath – and immediately wincing as she inhaled the rancid smell of the flat – Marie rolled up her shirt sleeves. Time to clean up at least part of Sherlock's mess. If everything went according to his stupid plan, he wouldn't need those packets of cocaine after tonight… and it would give Marie grim pleasure to flush down every last particle of the damned things.

* * *

It was about four hours later that Marie got the call she had been secretly hoping would never come.

But she and Sherlock were rarely ever wrong, and it seemed this wasn't one of those rare times.

Marie quickly ran to catch a cab to Scotland Yard, quietly scolding herself for having taken and then dumped Mycroft's car earlier that afternoon. It had been petty satisfaction to race Mycroft's expensive car – and to swear at him with it, that had been the highlight of her day – but it meant her car was unfortunately still at the Holmes cottage.

' _What was it that Confucius said again?_ ' Marie thought regretfully to herself. '' _Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves'. It looks like that might just come to bite me._ '

Unfortunately, it appeared that the extra grave would be for the younger Holmes sibling, Marie noted grimly as she stared at the news report that had just been released.

'Net Detective physically assaults Culverton Smith, after accusing the philanthropist of being a serial killer.' The headline screamed. Countless news stories were trending below, and Marie clicked on the BBC broadcast clip with a grim expression, watching as the news announcer stated: "Harold Chorley reporting earlier today. Mr. Smith stated he had no interest in bringing charges."

The news then cut to footage of an interview with Culverton Smith himself, standing in what appeared to a mortuary as he said to the news reporter: "I'm a fan of Sherlock Holmes. I'm a _big_ fan."

Marie's lips curled in a mix of a snarl and a sneer, but she watched silently as the man continued, apparently sincerely: "I don't really know what happened today. To be honest, I don't think I'd be standing here now if it wasn't for Dr. Watson."

The reporter then asked, offscreen: "Is it true he's being treated in your hospital?"

Smith smiled, and though it was supposed to look cheerful the smile reminded Marie of a shark's smile – a benign smile that belied the imminent attack.

"It's not actually my hospital..." Smith was saying in response to the reporter's question, before adding with a small laugh: "Well, it is a _little_ bit my hospital; uh, but I can promise you this: he's going to get the best of care. I might even move him to my favourite room."

The man smiled again, and Marie's jaw clenched. Yes – his _favourite_ room indeed. If the man wasn't careful, he would earn himself a permanent spot in his favourite room, too; as much as Marie hated Sherlock at the moment, she also loved him. And no-one hurt Victoire Marie's husband and got away with it. No-one.

Finally reaching the police station, Marie quickly paid her cab – asking the cabbie to wait ten minutes in case she came back out quickly – before striding into the station. No-one stopped her as she stalked towards the police interview room – clearly, they all recognized her and were staying well away from the wife of Scotland Yard's favourite sociopath.

Marie strode into the only occupied interview room in the hallway, throwing open the door and walking towards the extremely tired-looking Lestrade inside.

"Marie." He greeted when he looked up to see it was her, and Marie returned shortly: "Greg."

Fixing him with her keen gaze, she asked bluntly: "What exactly happened."

Lestrade sighed before he explained grimly: "Sherlock wielded a scalpel at Culverton Smith; to be honest, I'd say it was probably all thanks to those substances he abused." He gave her a pointed look. "From the recording we got from the security mic kept in the hospital mortuary, it seemed like Sherlock was as surprised by the scalpel in his hands as anyone else. He was even accusing Smith of having swiped the scalpel at the time before realizing it was in his hand."

"God." Marie muttered, while Lestrade gave her a sympathetic look.

"Yeah." Lestrade agreed, but Marie pushed on: "And?"

"Well," Lestrade sighed, "Sherlock was completely off his rocker, that's what. He started – or rather, _continued_ , I should say – to shout and accuse Smith, and I have to say he sounded absolutely raving crazy. If I didn't know better, I'd have even said he was a psychopath."

Marie winced slightly, and Lestrade quickly moved on.

"John eventually stopped Sherlock." Lestrade finished. "He, er…"

Lestrade trailed off apologetically, but Marie continued flatly: "Go on, Greg – don't worry, I can handle gory details."

"I'm sure you can." Lestrade muttered under his breath before he said in a louder voice: "John stopped Sherlock, forcefully. He cracked too, if you ask me – caved into his own pent up emotions. He punched Sherlock, harder and more times than he'd admit, I'd say. From the reports I got, he apparently broke Sherlock's nose and cracked a rib."

"A _rib_?" Marie repeated, brows furrowing, and Lestrade nodded.

"Listen, Marie-" Lestrade began, but Marie abruptly turned.

"Thank you, Greg." She said quickly as she stared back out the door. "I've got to go; I'll explain later."

"Hang on, Marie!" Lestrade called, but Marie was already gone.

"221B Baker Street." She said quickly to the cabbie, who had been waiting for her. "And quickly, please."

The cabbie started driving immediately, and Marie watched the London streets blur by as the cab sped through the streets. She'd known it had to come to this, but even so… she'd hoped against hope.

But they were all human in the end, John most of all. And as bitter as it was afterward, no call was sweeter than that of revenge.

Two graves indeed; if Marie didn't get to John in time, Sherlock would be as good as a goner. And more than anyone else, that would kill John, too, in the end.

* * *

 _Room at St. Caedwalla's Hospital_

John stood hunched and staring at the hospital bed while the heart monitor slowly beeped, the somewhat concerningly slow noise the only sound in the otherwise silent room. On the bed, Sherlock lay attached to a drip, passed out from pain, exhaustion, and a low level of drug overdose.

The door clicked open and a nurse – Nurse Cornish, whom he and Sherlock had briefly met earlier that day at the hospital, before Culverton Smith's voluntary speech to the children – stepped in.

"Oh, hi." She greeted John warmly, clearly remembering him, and John barely even looked at the woman let alone responded. "Just in to say hello?"

"No." John answered flatly, staring at Sherlock. "I'm just in to say goodbye."

"Oh, I'm sure he'll pull through." Nurse Cornish reassured, looking at Sherlock. "And yeah, he's made a terrible mess of himself, but he's awfully strong, so must look on the bright side."

She smiled kindly as she walked to the other side of the bed, checking all the stats. John remained a few paces away from the foot of the bed, before he finally cleared his throat. He straightened up from what he'd been leaning on, and walked to the side of the room as he muttered: "Well…"

John placed his old walking stick, the one he hadn't had to use since the second day he'd met Sherlock all those years ago, gently against the chair beside Sherlock's bed.

"Parting gift." He murmured as he left the grey stick, handle tucked on the back of the chair to keep it in place, while Nurse Cornish smiled as she said: "Oh, that's nice. A walking stick."

"Yeah, it was mine," John explained shortly, "from... a long time ago."

He winced just slightly as he tried not to think about it – why he'd had the walking stick, why he'd stopped using it… why he'd subconsciously kept it. Absently, he remembered that Marie had never seen him use the thing before – she'd come into his life after that. Well, now she and Sherlock could leave his life just as this useless cane was going to.

John turned and walked out, just as the phone began to ring on the bedside table. Nurse Cornish answered it as John made to leave the room, but he turned back in surprise as Nurse Cornish called: "Oh, uh, Doctor Watson?"

John paused, peering back into the room as he asked questioningly: "Hm?"

"It's for you." Nurse Cornish explained, causing John to frown before his expression cleared of confusion and instead flooded with annoyance.

Letting out an exasperated noise from the back of his throat, John walked back into the room to take the phone Nurse Cornish was offering to him, answering flatly: "Hello, Mycroft."

"There's a car downstairs." The elder Holmes brother stated flatly, as if that was all the explanation he needed to give. And, truthfully, it was.


	19. Save Him

_221B Baker Street_

John walked up into the flat he'd avoided since… since Mary's passing. His old home; it hurt even to think about it. To remember it.

Shaking off the dark feelings, John instead focused on his annoyance as he stepped up the stairs, a task made infinitely easier as Mycroft demanded from inside: "Where is she?"

John could see the man through the open flat door, sitting in Sherlock's armchair, his umbrella leaning against the right arm of the chair while all around him, his men were starting the cleanup of Sherlock's flat, taking down posters upon posters and lines of pictures of Culverton Smith.

"Where's Mrs. Holmes?" Mycroft asked, and one of his men answered: "We're trying to trace her now."

"You lost her?" Mycroft demanded, and the man explained uncomfortably: "She was here when we left your office sir; we will find her soon."

"And Mrs. Hudson?" Mycroft demanded instead, looking annoyed, and the man replied quickly: "She'll be up in a moment."

"Uh, what are you doing?" John demanded as he stepped into the flat, sidestepping Mycroft's men to avoid the strings of posters they were taking down.

"Have you noticed the kitchen?" Mycroft inquired instead, and John glanced over to see the mess of equipment, somewhat tidied in a very familiar way.

He realized a beat later that Marie must have been in, and that she'd cleaned up a bit before Mycroft arrived – the equipment was cleaned but replaced exactly as she'd likely found it. Mycroft would have neatly ordered Sherlock's things, but Marie left things where she found them because she knew that was what Sherlock liked. And somehow, realizing this made John's heart ache once more.

John shook his head as Mycroft, apparently not noticing his preoccupation, stood up whilst continuing: "It's practically a meth lab. I can see Marie's cleaned up a bit, but we can still salvage some things. I'm trying to establish exactly what drove Sherlock off the rails."

John looked around again, pausing as he saw a suited man currently examining a picture of Smith on the kitchen table, while Mycroft turned to him and asked: "Any ideas?"

John stared around, before asking: "Are these spooks?"

John looked back at Mycroft incredulously as he asked: "Are you using spooks now to look after your family?"

"Sherlock is a security concern." Mycroft answered firmly. "The fact that I'm his brother changes nothing."

"Yeah, you said that before." John muttered as he remembered the phone call he'd received from Mycroft three weeks earlier.

Suddenly, his vision of Mary piped up from where she stood just behind Mycroft's shoulder: "Ask him."

She was giving John a stern stare, and John tried to ignore her as Mycroft – unaware of this fact – asked John pointedly: "Why fixate on Culverton Smith? He's had his obsessions before, of course, but this goes a bit further than setting a mantrap for Father Christmas."

He looked at John, who glanced at Mary as she insisted: " _Do_ it. Ask him."

She nodded at Mycroft, who was saying of Sherlock: "Spending all night talking to a woman who wasn't even there."

"Oh, shut up, you." Mary scowled at Mycroft, frowning at him, and John finally decided he'd had enough. 'Mary' was right – it was time for questions.

"Mycroft," John began as he crossed his arms, "last time when we were on the phone..."

"No-no-no-no, stop." Mycroft interjected swiftly, raising a hand and turning away as he said with disinterest: "I detest conversation in the past tense."

"You said the fact that you were his brother made no difference." John noted, ignoring Mycroft's protests as he stepped right up before the taller man and stared at him dead on.

"It doesn't." Mycroft answered swiftly and calmly, looking for all the world innocent.

Of course there was no way John was going to buy that, and the blond man noted: "You said it didn't the last time and it wouldn't with Sherlock; so who was it the last time? Who were you talking about?"

"Attaboy." Mary smiled as she watched him proudly from where she now sat in Sherlock's armchair, while Mycroft answered instantly: "Nobody. I... misspoke."

"He's lying." Mary said firmly, and John agreed as he said to Mycroft: "You're lying."

"I assure you I'm not." Mycroft insisted, giving John a look, but Mary piped up: "He really is lying."

John didn't need to be told that as he stared at Mycroft, and slowly understanding dawned.

"Sherlock's not your only brother." John breathed, a small smile of disbelief appearing on his face. "There's another one, isn't there?"

Mycroft stared at John, his face neutral but his eyes were cold as he replied flatly and emotionlessly: "No."

"Jesus!" John laughed, though it wasn't from amusement. "A secret brother! What, is he locked up in a tower or something?"

Mycroft raised his head just slightly, staring down disdainfully at John, but they were interrupted as Mrs. Hudson arrived at last.

"Mycroft Holmes!" Mrs. Hudson gasped as she stared at first him and then around at all the men swarming the flat. "What are all these dreadful people doing in my house?!"

Her voice had risen sharply and indignantly, and Mycroft raised a hand as he stated firmly: "Mrs. Hudson, I apologise for the interruption. As you know, my brother has embarked on a programme of self-destruction remarkable even by _his_ standards, and I am endeavouring to find out what triggered it."

He nodded around, and Mrs. Hudson stared at him.

"And that's what you're all looking for?" She asked incredulously, and Mycroft nodded as he answered firmly: "Quite so."

"What's on his mind?" Mrs. Hudson queried skeptically, and Mycroft shrugged: "So to speak."

"And you've had all this time?" Mrs. Hudson asked, a brow raised, and Mycroft answered loudly: "Time being something of which we don't have an infinite supply, so if we could be about our business?"

He nodded to include John slightly while smiling falsely at Mrs. Hudson… who started to laugh.

Mycroft frowned in confusion and his usual disdain, glancing at John for answers as Mrs. Hudson got out between giggles: "You are... you're-you're so funny, you are!"

"Mrs. Hudson?" Mycroft questioned, genuinely confused and disliking the feeling.

Mrs. Hudson chuckled as she stared at Mycroft, musing: "He thinks you're clever. Poor old Sherlock; always going on about you. I mean," she touched John's arm as she added, "he _knows_ you're an idiot, but that's okay 'cause you're a lovely doctor."

She turned back to Mycroft while John glanced at her, processing her remark too late to interrupt as she continued to Mycroft: "But he has _no_ idea what an idiot _you_ are!"

"Is this merely stream-of-consciousness abuse," Mycroft asked irritably, "or are you attempting to make a point?"

"Both."

All three people turned to the doorway in surprise as Marie appeared, leaning against the door with her arms folded.

"Rose-Marie, darling!" Mrs. Hudson greeted in relief, while Mycroft sniffed: "How kind of you to join us at last. Now, if you-"

"What are these people doing in my flat, Mycroft?" Marie interrupted flatly, not even needing to gesture around to show who she meant. "Just because I'm on speaking terms with you again, does not mean I will condone you breaking into my home."

"As I have said countless times," Mycroft sighed irascibly, "Sherlock is a legitimate-"

"You're an idiot."

Mycroft paused, eyes narrowing irritably at Marie as she stalked into the flat, continuing angrily: "I've said it before, and I'll say it again. And you should really listen to Mrs. Hudson – she's not a goldfish, like you seem content to believe."

Mycroft frowned, while Marie nodded at the landlady as she said: "Mrs. Hudson; if you'd do the honors of dumbing it down for the idiot in the room."

Mycroft's scowl deepened, especially as Mrs. Hudson nodded before looking at him as she said: "You want to know what's bothering Sherlock? Easiest thing in the world; anyone could do it."

Mycroft sighed as he said impatiently: "I know his thought processes better than any other human being, so _please_ try to understand-"

Mrs. Hudson interrupted him as she laughed again, blurting out: "He's not about _thinking_ , not Sherlock."

"Of course he is." Mycroft almost snapped back, his eyes narrowing, but Mrs. Hudson shook her head as she dismissed: "No, no. He's more ... emotional, isn't he?"

"If you mean his marriage-" Mycroft began, glancing at Marie irritably, but Mrs. Hudson sniffed: "Of course not. And if you really knew Sherlock, you would know it came to no surprise he and dear Rose-Marie married."

"What-?" Mycroft began, looking impatient, and Marie interjected: "If Sherlock was truly the cold robot you'd claim him to be, I'd never have fallen in love with him nor could he with me. After all, emotionless people don't _feel,_ do they?"

"But Sherlock isn't like that." Mrs. Hudson added as Mycroft's frown deepened. "He never was."

The landlady turned to face the wall behind the sofa as she said: "Unsolved case: shoot the wall."

She pointed her fingers like a gun at said wall, mimicking Sherlock's habit of firing at said wall. "Pew! Pew!"

She then turned to the kitchen as she continued: "Unmade breakfast: karate the fridge! Discontent Rose-Marie: play the violin."

Mrs. Hudson nodded at said instrument, carefully packed and tucked away under the desk and away from potential harm. John nodded, his arms folded with a thoughtful expression on his face, while Mycroft frowned.

"And finally," Marie interjected. "Unanswered question. John?" She looked at the man pointedly. "What does Sherlock do with anything he can't answer?"

John's head had automatically turned to look at the fireplace, or rather specifically the mantelpiece as he answered slowly: "He stabs it."

His forehead creased and he unfolded his arms while making his way to the mantelpiece, while Mrs. Hudson nodded as she agreed wholeheartedly: "Anything he can't find the answer for: bang!"

She pointed at said mantelpiece, just as John noted the knife stabbed into a plain, white padded envelope. He reached for it, ignoring Mary's watchful stare as he pulled the envelope from its pinned state, frowning as he opened it in confusion.

Marie was watching him intently, same as 'Mary', while Mrs. Hudson told Mycroft: "I keep telling him: if he was any good as a detective, I wouldn't need a new mantel."

Marie was no longer listening, and neither was Mycroft – both were watching John as he pulled out the white DVD with the message written on it: 'MISS ME?'

John's eyes widened, and he looked up in complete surprise to see a similar expression of shock on Mycroft's face while Marie… looked straight back at him with steely but desperate green eyes.

* * *

The whole room watched silently as the DVD whirred before playing on the TV, and John flinched instantly as Mary's face popped up onscreen while she said: "If you're watching this, I'm... probably dead."

John instantly backed away, raising a hand as if to physically remove himself from the situation as he said: "Okay, no. S-stop that now, please."

He turned away from the screen, biting his lip while his hand fisted tightly, and Marie paused the video immediately. She looked to Mrs. Hudson, her gaze pleading, and the good landlady understood immediately.

She stood up, looking around at the others in the room as she ordered sternly: "Everybody out, now. _All_ of you."

No-one moved, while Marie watched John as he stood by the window, staring in absolute grief at the space blankly, and Mrs. Hudson ordered loudly and sharply: "This is _my_ house, these are _my_ friends," she gestured to Marie and John before pointing to the screen, "that's _his_ departed wife, and _her_ husband is currently hospitalized because _they_ were all good friends."

John's throat clogged up, while Marie looked away at last, looking down at the floor as Mrs. Hudson finished sternly: "Anyone who stays here a minute longer is admitting to me personally they do not have a single _spark_ of human decency."

John finally turned back to the room, gazing at Mrs. Hudson and Marie while Mrs. Hudson watched firmly as slowly, every single one of Mycroft's men turned and left the flat. Only Mycroft remained, arms folded as he stared at the TV screen.

Mrs. Hudson turned to him when at last he was the only one remaining, and her eyes narrowed. Stalking up to the man, she leaned up close as she hissed: "Get out of my house, you _reptile_."

Mycroft looked at her, startled and completely taken aback, but Mrs. Hudson was firm as she continued to stare at him while she gestured to the front door. Mycroft stared back incredulously, before glancing to Marie for help but she was staring once more at the TV as well, with such a forlorn expression that it made Mycroft pause.

Finally, slowly, Mycroft reached for his umbrella, taking it from Sherlock's chair before leaving the flat, taking his men with him as he walked downstairs and left in his car.

* * *

 _Room at St. Caedwalla's Hospital_

Sherlock slowly regained consciousness, opening his eyes and blinking a few times. His left eye felt wrong, blurred and it hurt to blink suggesting it was likely bruised if not bloodshot from broken blood vessels around the eye.

A noise – the sound of someone letting out a deep breath – caused Sherlock to flick his eyes over to the corner of his room where he saw Culverton Smith sitting comfortably in one of the visitor's chairs. He looked relatively normal and unassuming, if it weren't for the fact that he was most likely unexpected and undetected in the hospital room… and the fact that he was wearing medical gloves.

"You've been ages waking up." Smith murmured as he stared at Sherlock. "I watched you. It's quite lovely in its way.""

Sherlock parted his mouth, before he swallowed, his mouth parched, and Smith said softly: "Take it easy. It's okay. Don't want to rush this. You're Sherlock Holmes."

* * *

 _221B Baker Street_

"I'm sorry. Marie, I'm so sorry to ask this of you, and Sherlock." Mary said onscreen as John watched while Marie had turned her head away. Mrs. Hudson had left to give them privacy, closing the door as she waited downstairs for them to work things out.

"I'm giving you a case, Sherlock. Might be the hardest case of your career."

Onscreen, Mary took a deep breath before she stated: "When I'm... gone, _if_ I'm gone… I need you to do something for me. Save John Watson."

John grimaced, and he shook his head slightly as tears welled while Mary whispered, begged: "Save him, Sherlock. Save him."

John swallowed hard as onscreen Mary stated as she stared at the camera: "Don't think anyone else is going to save him, because there isn't anyone. It's up to you... and Marie, if you're willing."

Mary smiled a little as she added: "But I do think we all know that, if… _when_ I'm gone, there is only one way to save John Watson."

John licked his suddenly dry lips as he stared at the screen, the unshed tears still bright in his eyes while understanding finally dawned on him. Why Sherlock had done what he'd done, why Marie had reacted as she had… why Marie was here, why she'd shown this to him, why she was _still_ here.

And why Sherlock was lying in a hospital of a serial killer.


	20. Going to Hell

_Room at St. Caedwalla's Hospital_

"How did you get in?" Sherlock croaked out, his voice weak as he stared at Smith.

The small man smiled a little, standing as he asked softly while pointing towards the door: "Policeman outside, you mean? Come on. Can't you guess?"

Sherlock's eyes immediately moved to the decorative wooden panel on the wall opposite the bed, and he murmured the obvious: "Secret door."

Smith smiled as he explained quietly: "I built this whole wing."

He waved his gloved finger around to indicate the general area they were in as he continued: "Kept firing the architect and builders so no-one knew quite how it all fitted together. I can slip in and out anywhere I like, you know..."

He inhaled sharply, almost longingly, before finishing in the tight tone of an addict: "When I get the urge."

"H. H. Holmes." Sherlock murmured, and Smith corrected slightly: "Murder castle, but done right."

He then stared at Sherlock more intently as he asked: "Now, I have a question for you. Why are you here?"

He examined Sherlock as he pointed out: "It's like you walked into my den and laid down in front of me."

Sherlock lowered his eyes, no longer meeting Smith's stare, and Smith repeated softly: "Why?"

Sherlock's eyes flickered up briefly before lowering once more, and he swallowed before he answered hoarsely: "You know why I'm here."

"I'd like to hear you say it." Smith replied as he gazed at Sherlock, and then he smiled a little, like a child anticipating a treat.

 _"_ Say it for me, please." He requested, and Sherlock looked back up at Smith at last.

"I want you to kill me." Sherlock stated finally, and Smith's grin widened.

* * *

 _221B Baker Street_

John flung open the door, Marie hurrying out first as she looked for a cab as John came out right behind her, when a voice called: "John! Rose-Marie!"

The pair turned back to the flats as Mrs. Hudson stuck her head out, tossing John a set of keys.

"My car." She explained, gesturing round back to indicate where it was parked.

John nodded, while Marie took the keys from him as they quickly headed around the building, both of them breaking into a brisk run.

"You're driving?" John asked, glancing at Marie, and she answered curtly: "I'm faster."

He didn't argue that; and though it meant he wouldn't likely ever get the chance to drive Mrs. Hudson's car, that was the least of John's concerns as he climbed into the passenger seat of the Aston Martin.

* * *

 _Room at St. Caedwalla's Hospital_

"If you increase the dosage four or five times," Sherlock noted and Smith's eyes flickered at the drip currently attached to Sherlock's hand, "toxic shock should shut me down within about an hour."

Smith smiled, straightening slightly as he moved to the foot of the bed while finishing quietly: "Then I restore the settings. Everyone assumes it was a fault, or you just gave up the ghost."

His smile widened, and Sherlock agreed calmly, as though they weren't discussing his own imminent death: "Yes."

"You're rather good at this." Smith noted as he walked up beside the drip.

The man then worked off his jacket, dropping it onto the chair beside Sherlock as he murmured: "Before we start, tell me how you feel."

He then started to remove his cufflinks, rolling back his sleeves carefully while Sherlock murmured softly: "I feel… scared."

Smith scoffed, and he almost ordered sternly: "Be more specific."

He paused, before chuckling as he added: "You only get to do this the once."

"I'm scared of dying." Sherlock murmured, frowning just slightly.

Smith nodded, looking pleased as he noted: "You wanted this, though."

"I have... reasons." Sherlock murmured, and Smith asked: "A fight with your wife, perhaps? I saw her leaving… she didn't look very happy."

"Part of the reason." Sherlock breathed, and Smith nodded as he smiled.

"Doctor Watson." He noted, and Sherlock didn't answer.

Smith examined him, and he asked quietly, darkly: "But you don't actually _want_ to die?"

"No." Sherlock whispered, and Smith smiled once more.

"Good." He whispered, looking very pleased and even content as he finished rolling up his sleeves, before he looked back at Sherlock.

"Say it out for me." Smith breathed almost lovingly. "Say it."

"I don't want to die." Sherlock murmured, and Smith breathed: "And again."

"I don't want to die." Sherlock repeated, a little louder and a little firmer, and Smith breathed.

"Once more for luck." Smith whispered, as though he didn't want to ruin the pleasure of the moment, and Sherlock repeated tearfully, his eyes watering: "I don't want to die. I don't..."

Smith leaned in then, coming closer as Sherlock whispered: "I don't want to die."

Smith watched him, his gaze almost intense even as his tone was almost loving as he breathed close to Sherlock's face: "Lovely."

His lips continued to twitch, as though he were fighting the urge to smile with the utter pleasure he was feeling, while he straightened up and moved to the drip control panel.

"Here it comes." Smith murmured, before pressing at the controls, raising the levels on the readout to increase the dosage in Sherlock's drip.

Sherlock watched him, an anguished expression now covering his face as his death came ever closer.

* * *

 _London street_

Marie zoomed through the streets, definitely speeding but she was sure she'd be fine – she was arguing on the phone.

"You deserved to be kicked out." She countered into her mobile. "And you can have your petty revenge for that and for the car by letting me be pulled over and ticketed, but then it's on your head if Sherlock dies, Mycroft."

Meanwhile, John was saying to Lestrade urgently: "Please, I don't think he's safe."

"No, he's fine." Lestrade argued, even as John heard him moving about hurriedly. "I've got a man on the door. What-what do you think's happened?"

"Something dangerous." John answered frantically as he glanced at Marie. "I don't know what exactly, Marie's taking me there now. Mary left a message-"

" _What_ message?" Lestrade asked incredulously.

* * *

 _Earlier_

 _221B Baker Street_

"John Watson," Mary pointed out grimly onscreen, "never accepts help, not from anyone. Not ever. But here's the thing: he never _refuses_ it. So, here's what you are going to do, Sherlock."

* * *

 _Room at St. Caedwalla's Hospital_

Smith was pacing at the foot of Sherlock's bed as Sherlock watched with groggy eyes while his drip continued to feed him.

"So tell me." Smith asked curiously. "Why are we doing this? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I wanted to hear your confession." Sherlock answered softly. "Needed to know I was right."

"But why do you need to die?" Smith asked, frowning, and Sherlock explained just as quietly: "The mortuary; your favourite room."

Smith smiled slightly as he understood, while Sherlock stated with difficulty: "You talk to the dead. You make your confession to them."

Smith sniffed, straightening up as he turned away, shaking his head but not in denial – in admiration.

* * *

"You can't save John because he won't let you." Mary had told them, shaking her head with a small rueful smile onscreen. "He won't allow himself to be saved. The only way to save John... is to make him save you."

* * *

 _Room at St. Caedwalla's Hospital_

"Why do you do it?" Sherlock asked faintly, and Smith looked at him.

"Why do I kill?" He asked, before looking down a little as he explained while gently rubbing his fingers together: "It's not about hatred or-or revenge. I'm not a dark person. It's... Killing human beings..."

He broke down into chuckles, covering his mouth as he laughed to himself in delight like a child while admitting to Sherlock between laughs: "It just makes me..."

He let out a long, contented sigh before finishing with a wide smile: "Incredibly happy."

Sherlock's lips thinned just a little as he watched the other man while Smith's smile faded slowly as he fell in thought. The man let out a harsh breath through his nose as he stood up, walking back to Sherlock's bed as he said suddenly: "You know i-i-in films when-when you see dead people pretending to be dead and it's just living people lying down?"

Smith shook his head, his lips pressed together in dislike before he said discontentedly: "That's not what dead people look like."

Sherlock watched carefully, silently, as Smith continued with a smouldering look in his eyes: "Dead people look like _things_. I like to make people into _things_. Then you can own them."

He huffed out as he stared at Sherlock, who was gazing back at him silently.

"You know what?" Smith stated as he straightened up. "I'm getting a little impatient."

He leant back, pressing the button on Sherlock's bed to bring the partially angled detective back down flat on his back. Sherlock could only lie there and watch as Smith ran his tongue over his lips like a predator about to hunt his prey, or the way a fat child looks at cake just before he devours it whilst enjoying every morsel.

* * *

"And Marie," Mary stated as she stared right at the camera as though to Marie herself, "I'm sorry to ask this; but I know that if our roles had been reversed, you would want this for Sherlock. So please… let me ask this of you two. Marie, please look aside just this once. Forgive me, and forgive Sherlock."

* * *

 _Room at St. Caedwalla's Hospital_

Smith leant down over Sherlock as the younger man just stared up at him helplessly.

"Take a big breath if you want." Smith murmured to Sherlock, and Sherlock's eyes lowered immediately to Smith's hands.

And Sherlock took a quick, deep breath right before Smith pressed a firm hand over his mouth and nose respectively, blocking Sherlock's airways as Smith began to strangle him.

* * *

"Go to Hell, Sherlock." Mary ordered as she stared seriously at the camera. "Go right into Hell, and make it look like you mean it."

* * *

 _Room at St. Caedwalla's Hospital_

Sherlock struggled, writhing as Smith pressed down hard on his head while Smith mumbled contently: "Murder is a very difficult addiction to manage. People don't realise how much work goes into it. You have to be careful."

Sherlock flailed weakly at Smith's arms, trying to break the other man's hold, while Smith continued with that wide, toothy smile: "But if-if you're rich and famous and _loved_ , it's amazing what people are prepared to ignore."

Smith's voice was also becoming labored, both from the effort of resisting Sherlock's squirming and from the sheer anticipation of murdering his victim.

But the confession was part of that anticipation, and so Smith continued to murmur as he leaned in to watch Sherlock struggle: "There's always someone desperate, about to go missing, and no-one wants to suspect murder if it's easier to suspect something else! I just have to ration myself; choose the right heart to stop."

* * *

"Go and pick a fight with a bad guy." Mary continued, half-ordering half-pleading as she addressed both Sherlock and Marie in her message. "Put yourself in harm's way."

* * *

 _Room at St. Caedwalla's Hospital_

Sherlock struggled valiantly, his eyes wide as he stared frantically up, while Smith breathed, almost hissed: "Please, maintain eye contact. Maintain eye contact. Please. I like to watch it... happen."

* * *

"If he thinks you need him," Mary promised onscreen and they'd all known she was right, "I _swear_..."

* * *

 _St. Caedwalla's Hospital_

John and Marie burst through the doors into the hallway leading to Sherlock's hospital room, the pair striding quickly to the door where the police officer that was supposed to be on guard was missing. Only his cap still remained on the chair placed by the door, and the sight made John's heart pound harder as he quickly tried the door.

It wouldn't budge, the handle jiggling but refusing to open.

* * *

 _Inside Sherlock's room_

Smith leaned down over Sherlock as he hissed: "And off we ... pop."

Sherlock's eyes started to glaze and close while his heart monitor slowed dangerously.

* * *

"He _will_ be there." Mary promised, staring right at the camera.

* * *

 _Inside Sherlock's room_

Sherlock's heart monitor started to go flat, going into a long single tone and Smith's smile was almost manic… when the door burst open, revealing John Watson and Marie Holmes, holding a fire extinguisher and mobile phone respectively.


	21. The Lying Detective

Smith released Sherlock instantly, turning around in alarm while Sherlock choked and flailed as his lungs quickly sought the air it had been deprived of.

John stood stock-still for a moment, staring at Smith incredulously while Marie removed her mobile from against her ear with narrowed eyes, just as a voice called: "Mr. Holmes! You okay?"

The police officer, who was supposed to have been guarding the room came rushing back, pausing in the doorway as John dropped the fire extinguisher and began to storm up to Smith. Marie rushed over to check on Sherlock, going behind John as the doctor grabbed Smith by the neck, hauling him away from the bed as he hissed: "What were you doing to him?"

"Sherlock?" Marie asked desperately, and his eyes finally focused on hers, his heart returning to a steady beat, as Smith whimpered while John repeated, shouting furiously: " _What_ were you _doing_?!"

"He's in distress!" Smith cried in protest as he gestured desperately at Sherlock while John hauled him to the edge of the room. "I-I'm helping him!"

John didn't buy a single word, his faith in Sherlock having been fully restored (aka he'd finally admitted to himself that Sherlock was not to blame so he was free to acknowledge he had and probably always would trust Sherlock) and he basically threw Smith at the police officer as he ordered: "Restrain him, now. Do it."

The officer held onto Smith, still looking mostly bewildered, while Smith cried, his face flushed and agitated: "I was trying to help him!"

"Sherlock, what was he doing to you?" John demanded, turning to look over at the man who was still struggling to breathe properly as Marie stroked his cheek soothingly.

"Suffocating me," Sherlock answered though still rather breathlessly, "overdosing me."

He gestured at the drip machine as he spoke, while his eyes drifted shut.

"Sherlock." Marie called sternly, bringing him back to them, while John demanded urgently: "On what?"

"Saline." Sherlock answered, and John repeated incredulously: "Saline?"

"Yeah, saline." Sherlock agreed, while gesturing at Marie. She understood, moving his bed back up into a propped angle while holding him down with her hand before Sherlock could impatiently raised himself up onto his elbows.

John meanwhile walked over to look at the drip bag while he asked with a confused frown: "What d'you mean, saline?"

Sherlock groaned, letting out a shaky breath, and Marie checked his pulse and shaking hands while Sherlock still managed to explain to John through his unsteady breathing: "Well obviously I got Nurse Cornish to switch the bags. She's a big fan, you know? Loves my blog."

John turned back to him, frowning, and he asked skeptically: "You're okay?"

"No-no, of _course_ I'm not okay." Sherlock dismissed, as though it were obvious – which is was. "Malnourished, double kidney failure, and frankly I've been off my tits for _weeks_."

"Don't forget your damaged teeth and liver." Marie muttered severely as she let go of his arm, and he nodded at her with a wince.

"How could I forget?" He agreed, before squinting at John as he added in conclusion: "What kind of a doctor _are_ you?"

Marie tucked his blanket around him silently, while John could only stare as Sherlock groaned before his eyes moved over to Smith.

"I got my confession, though, didn't I?" He added rather smugly, though the tone was almost lost in his breathy voice. Almost.

"Huh!" Smith scoffed as he wrenched his arms away from the police officer. "I don't recall making any confession."

He started forwards towards the bed, and Marie straightened while John held out a hand to stop the man as he warned: "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa."

"What would I be confessing _to_?" Smith demanded as he stopped, but only to give John and Marie an indignant look each.

"You can listen to it later." Sherlock muttered tiredly, though his hand still reached out to hold Marie's tentatively. She didn't loosen up her posture – if anything, she tensed further – but at least she didn't pull away. Sherlock supposed that was something.

"But there is no confession to listen to!" Smith retorted at Sherlock, before he paused.

With a false gasp and an equally false apologetic expression, Smith clasped his gloved hands together as he said: "Oh, Mr Holmes. I-I don't know if this is relevant, but we found three potential recording devices in the pockets of your coat."

Sherlock frowned just slightly as he glanced over at Smith again, looking faintly perturbed, while Smith continued with false regret: Um, all your possessions were searched."

He glanced at John and Marie as he added: "Sorry."

Sherlock's gaze had lowered just slightly, still looking rather disgruntled, as John and Smith turned to look at him.

Marie was rolling her eyes, an action that gave the couple away before Sherlock even murmured with a frown: "Must be something comforting about the number three, people _always_ give up after three."

He raised his eyes back to Smith, just slightly cocking a brow, and Smith's face fell as he stared back at Sherlock in horror. Sherlock's eyes then flickered to the side, looking no at John instead, who frowned back in confusion.

"What?" John asked, glancing between Sherlock and Marie. "What is it? What?"

Sherlock didn't reply, but he didn't have to. Marie just pursed her lips while Sherlock bit his lip just slightly like a child fighting back a smile as he waits for his parent to figure out his latest prank.

John paused, then sighed in exasperation.

"You cock." John muttered, and Sherlock agreed: "Yup."

"Utter, utter cock." John sighed, and Sherlock nodded as he answered: "Heard you the first time."

He turned his head back more comfortably on his pillow as he settled in while John stepped across the room, and picked up his walking stick.

"So," John asked resignedly as he turned back to his friends with the walking stick held up uncertainly, "how-how does it open?"

"Screw the top." Marie muttered, and John mumbled back: "I knew you were in on the whole thing."

"I wasn't completely lying." Marie answered. "I really didn't like, and refused to help, Sherlock's idea to use those stupid drugs, _again_."

"It was the only thing that would really convince John." Sherlock replied with a shrug that showed the pair had had this argument many times before.

John chose to stay silent, unable to counter Sherlock's statement or offer anything of comfort to Marie. Instead, he worked on pulling off the handle of his old walking stick, revealing to a grim Smith, the unsurprised trio, and the surprised police officer, a small round device hidden inside that was glowing red.

John pulled out the recording device, examining it briefly before looking back at Sherlock and Marie.

"Two weeks ago?" He asked, and Sherlock corrected: "Three. I texted Marie to ask her for the favour, since Mycroft had me under surveillance."

"Of course, bloody-" John sighed, before demanding: "And am I _that_ predictable?"

"No." Sherlock replied, smiling slightly, and John exhaled through his nose while Sherlock's gaze moved to Smith.

"I'm just a cock." Sherlock grinned as he watched Smith, who had stumbled back in despair upon seeing the recording device.

"You really are." Marie muttered, just as Lestrade came striding into the room with a squadron of his men.

John and Smith looked over in surprise, but neither Sherlock nor Marie were surprised as Sherlock called: "Ah, Lestrade."

"Sherlock." The DI sighed, before nodding at Marie.

"I heard you." Lestrade said as he waved his mobile. "I'm assuming this means you two have all the evidence now to back up Marie's call for the police to come?"

"Of course." Sherlock answered, nodding at John who sighed again in exasperation as Marie held up her mobile and finally cut the call.

Smith stared at her now in dismay, while Lestrade rubbed his face tiredly but nodded at the couple before turning to Smith.

"In that case," Lestrade stated loudly so his men and Smith could hear his orders, "Mr. Culverton Smith, I hereby arrest you under charges of suspected murder, and attempted murder…"

* * *

As Smith was led out by the police a few minutes later, Sherlock coughed slightly, and he glanced at Marie.

"Er," he asked, "any chance I could get some morphine?"

"I thought it was bad for thinking?" John asked in surprise, while Marie's eyes narrowed at her husband.

"Well, yes, but when one's close to death's door, it is rather painful." Sherlock returned calmly, before glancing back at Marie. "Marie? Some help?"

She gave him a measured look before abruptly turning on her heel and walking towards the ward door.

"Marie-?" John began, when she called over her shoulder: "Go to hell, both of you."

John sighed, while Sherlock barked out a laugh, which soon turned into a wince of pain.

John could only shake his head; though a small smile quirked his lips when Marie returned some time later with the desired morphine. And he had to laugh when she irritably stabbed the needle into Sherlock's arm with a little more force than was necessary, making Sherlock wince.

It was petty, but it helped ease some of the frustration she'd had to go through for the past months. And besides, no-one got away completely with hurting her husband – not even Sherlock himself.

* * *

 _A few days later_

"I had, of course, several other back-up plans." Sherlock explained. "Trouble is, I couldn't remember what they were. Though I did have Marie helping me whenever she could; though she was very unwilling, she wouldn't really leave me to deal with all of it on my own."

"Probably because she knows you'd end up actually killing yourself." John noted as he took another sip of his tea.

The pair were sitting in their respective chairs in the sitting room off 221B, each holding a nice warm mug of tea as they faced each other across from the warm fire burning in the fireplace.

The room was completely tidied, thanks to Marie, Mrs. Hudson and John, who'd come by to help before Sherlock's release from the hospital, so Sherlock didn't have to worry about cleaning up that mess. Instead, he could focus on cleaning up the mess he'd made of himself, something all of them were demanding and supervising.

As it was, it was a much cleaner – both inside and out – Sherlock sitting in his chair, his hair washed even if he hadn't yet shaved his small beard, and his eyes back to almost their usual sharp, focused blue; except for the left one, which was still bruised and bloodshot.

"And, of course," Sherlock added thoughtfully, "I hadn't really anticipated that I'd hallucinated meeting his daughter."

John nodded slowly, before glancing up as his vision Mary listed from where she stood behind Sherlock: "Basically he trashed himself on drugs so that you'd help him, so that you'd have something to do, something doctory, so you could recover. It was the only reason Marie even let him be instead of stopping him. You get that now, though?"

John didn't answer, while Sherlock began again with a sigh: "Still a bit troubled by the daughter. Did seem very real, and she gave me information I couldn't have acquired elsewhere."

He was frowning just slightly, his expression thoughtful, and John asked: "But she wasn't ever here?"

"Interesting, isn't it?" Sherlock mused. "I have theorised before that if one could attenuate to every available data stream in the world simultaneously, it would be possible to anticipate and deduce almost anything."

He sniffed as he peered thoughtfully down, while John nodded.

"Hm." He summarized. "So you dreamed up a magic woman who told you things you didn't know."

"Well, it sounds about right to me." Mary noted, before grinning at John as she added cheekily: " _Possibly_ I'm biased."

"Perhaps," Sherlock said pensively, "the drugs opened certain doors in my mind… I'm intrigued."

He took another drink from his mug, while John scoffed: "Oh, I know you are."

He nodded back towards the door to indicate all the people who came by to take shifts watching Sherlock as he said: "Which is why Marie's keeping the twins at your parents' house for now, and why we're all taking it in turns to help her keep you off the sweeties."

Sherlock lowered his mug as he joked lightly at John: "I thought we were just hanging out."

He smiled a little, a hint of nervousness on his face, and John returned it in like kind.

He then quickly checked his watch, before looking back at Sherlock as he added: "Marie should be back soon, maybe in twenty minutes."

"Oh, I do think I can last twenty minutes without supervision." Sherlock smiled, and John glanced down, his expression thoughtful.

"Well, if you're sure…" He said, lifting his mug to take another sip of tea, while Sherlock nodded though he shifted his head a little to hide his hurt and Mary groaned from behind Sherlock: "Christ, John, stay. _Talk_!"

"Uh, sorry," John explained quickly as he placed his mug down on the side table, "it's just, um, you know, Rosie."

"Yes, of course, Rosie." Sherlock breathed, nodding in understanding even though he clearly wanted to say something more, anything to try and lessen the gap they could still feel between their old friendship.

"Go and solve a crime together." Mary scolded John. "Take Marie, she needs a break, too. Or make him wear the hat!"

John opened his mouth, hesitated for a beat, before asking instead: "You'll be okay for twenty minutes?"

Mary glowered at him, while Sherlock said quickly: "Yes. Yes! Sorry, I-I wasn't thinking of Rosie. Really should have."

"No problem." John said just as quickly as he stood up, while Sherlock added, though very hesitantly: "I should, uh, come and see her soon. With Marie."

He glanced up at John, part hopeful and part wary, but John replied firmly: "Yes."

Sherlock nodded, as though satisfied though he still looked a little uncomfortable – both of them were.

Mary wasn't as she said meaningfully to John: "Actually, he should wear the hat as a special tribute to me. I'm dead. I would _really_ appreciate it."

John ignored her as he started to walk out of the flat, when Sherlock finally and very abruptly called after him: "Are you okay?"

There was genuine concern in his tone, and it finally broke John as the doctor laughed sarcastically before turning back into the room.

"Uh, what, am I ... no, no, I'm _not_ okay." John answered as he stared at Sherlock… and at 'Mary' behind him. "I'm never gonna be okay. But we'll just have to accept that. It is what it is; and what it is, is... shit."

"John, do better." Mary ordered firmly, while Sherlock nodded in understanding as he lowered his eyes slightly.

John inhaled deeply, knowing what Mary was referring to – what had been on both his and Sherlock's minds since John's breakdown in the mortuary, when he'd pounded Sherlock in a rage, breaking the detective's nose and even cracking a rib when he'd kicked at Sherlock while the detective just took each blow without any attempt at defending himself.

But most of all, on what John had said as he'd left Sherlock bleeding. What he had spat out in a moment of anger and anguish, lashing out at Sherlock because he was the easiest person to blame. Even though it wasn't true.

"You didn't kill Mary." John finally blurted out now.

Sherlock's eyes snapped up to look at him in surprise, while Mary watched proudly as John took a deep breath but met Sherlock's gaze as he said firmly: "Mary died saving your life. It was her choice."

He took another breath before continuing: "No-one made her do it. No-one could ever make her do anything," Mary smiled at that, "but the point is: you did not kill her."

Sherlock's gaze lowered, accepting John's words as forgiveness and as the plea for forgiveness they were for the false accusation he'd spat at Sherlock in the mortuary.

Mary bowed her head too, finally feeling some peace, while Sherlock murmured at last: "In saving my life, she conferred a value on it, even more so than the birth of my children did."

He hesitated before admitting: "It is a currency I do not know how to spend."

John smiled a little, and he finally answered quietly: "It is what it is."

He looked at Sherlock, who lowered his head once more while Mary watched them fondly. John hesitated, before adding: "Uh, I'm tomorrow, six 'til ten. I'll see you then."

"Looking forward to it." Sherlock answered, raising his mug in a toast, and John muttered, still sounding a little uncertain: "Yeah."

John made to leave once more, only to almost bump into Marie as she walked into the flat.


	22. Human

"Oh, John." Marie said in surprise, and John greeted back: "Marie."

"Leaving already?" Marie asked curiously, glancing at Sherlock before refocusing on John as he shrugged.

"Er, yes, yeah." He said, before glancing at Marie and frowning.

There was a small bulge in Marie's jacket pocket, hinting at a box, but it was too small for him to tell what it was. At first, he wondered if Marie was taking pity on Sherlock and sneaking him cigarettes, but dismissed the thought quickly – Marie was strict on differentiating her love from Sherlock's health.

"Isn't it kind of late for Christmas presents?" John asked rather abruptly as he gestured at Marie's pocket.

Marie looked at him in surprise, as did – oddly enough – Sherlock.

"What?" Marie asked, and John repeated: "Well, Christmas and New Years have passed, and I know you two spent both together at the hospital. I heard from Molly that you also brought in the twins, though how you managed to keep them from crying at Sherlock's face-"

"They are clever." Sherlock interrupted. "It was simple to deduce that I was merely injured somehow-"

"They're _babies_." John retorted, and Sherlock fired back with a small smile: "Almost a year old."

John stared at Sherlock, examining the detective's face as he thought he detected something strange in his tone, before glancing at Marie, who looked just slightly amused and slightly anticipatory. Suddenly, he put two and two together, and he said in a sudden epiphany moment: "I'm going to make a deduction."

"Oh, okay." Sherlock said, frowning. "That's good, I suppose. Though you really don't need to feel as though you need to prove something, Scott and Sheryl have been tested for intelligence well above their-"

"Happy birthday." John interrupted, looking at Sherlock.

Marie coughed, choking on her laughter at Sherlock's stunned face. The detective was staring at John, who just looked back with a small smile on his face, before Sherlock finally nodded.

"Thank you, John. That's ... very kind of you." He mumbled the end, glancing down at his mug in almost embarrassment.

" _Never_ knew when your birthday was." John mused, his tone light, and Sherlock murmured softly as he lifted his mug to his lips: "Well, now you do."

"Should I leave you two alone for a bit? Haven't felt this much like I was third-wheeling for about five years." Marie teased, earning a slight cough from Sherlock as he almost choked on his drink, while John rolled his eyes.

"Oh, har, har, we're all parents now." John pointed out dryly, and Marie smiled at him. He smiled back, though it was slightly strained and his eyes strayed to the door once more.

Marie saw it, and her gaze softened. Moving forward, she kissed John's cheek, silently letting him know he was free to leave if he really chose to, before she walked to where Sherlock was sitting, watching them.

His eyes met John's, and he looked away quickly, turning to face Marie as she settled on the arm of his seat, pulling out the small package and handing it to him. John stood, watching momentarily as Sherlock brightened to find it was a new magnifying set, nestled safely inside a cushioned case, before he leaned up and kissed his wife gently on the cheek, something Marie accept with just the slightest hint of sorrow and dejection still hanging around her.

"John." Mary interjected impatiently. " _Ask her._ I know you want to – just ask her."

"Marie."

Both Marie and Sherlock looked up in surprise at John's abrupt call, both having expected him to use the moment to escape as he had clearly been itching to do.

As he'd done several times before. And in part, John himself was surprised at himself, but there was no backing out now. And, in truth, he was tired of running.

"Yes?" Marie asked, and John straightened himself, clearing his throat as he asked awkwardly: "Why, well…"

She raised a brow, silently asking him to tell her what was wrong, and John said hesitantly: "I get now why Sherlock did what he did. But, what I don't get is why you helped if you were so clearly against it."

Sherlock grimaced while Marie frowned, and John continued: "I mean, you could have been acting I suppose, but I know you were really angry with Sherlock for doing this to himself. Was it because of the twins?"

"John, you're side-tracking." Mary noted, and he powered on over her: "Was that why you were angry?"

"Yes." Marie confirmed, her green eyes scrutinizing him even as she answered: "I wasn't happy-"

"Putting it mildly." Sherlock muttered, but Marie continued over him: "-that Sherlock had chosen to do drugs. I was furious with him and upset, because honestly, John, I was _frightened_ that-"

She broke off, turning her head away while Sherlock's hand moved to clasp hers, squeezing it reassuringly. John noted, with some relief, that Marie was once again wearing her wedding band on her left ring finger; but it was small comfort at the moment as he watched Marie take a deep breath, feeling guilty.

He hadn't been the direct reason for her heartache – after all, _he_ hadn't asked Sherlock to go almost die – but if he hadn't been so stubborn… and John finally understood why Marie had not tried to stop Sherlock, even when she removed the twins away from Sherlock for their safety.

"Because if it had been you," John murmured and the couple looked at him, "if it had been you, not Mary, you'd have wanted me to do the same for Sherlock. You'd have wanted me to save him from himself – and you would have wanted Mary to let me save him."

Sherlock gazed at John, while Marie nodded.

"Yes." She murmured, looking down at her hands and tugging on her right finger – something John noticed she did whenever she was recalling a past mission as an assassin. "I would have wanted that. So how could I not respect Mary's last wishes?"

She sighed, while Mary gazed at the two Holmes's with gratitude and apology.

"Thank you." She murmured, while John nodded slowly at Marie.

"I see." He murmured, before fixing Sherlock with a hard stare. "And you still went through with it, even though you knew you were hurting her?"

"I had to." Sherlock answered firmly, though with another apologetic squeeze of Marie's hand. "For you… and for Mary. And don't worry, I plan to make it up to Marie for the rest of my life, too."

"You'd better." Marie said, and he nodded at her while John exhaled.

"Fine, I see." He muttered, as he lowered his eyes to stare at the ground. "Okay."

"What?" Sherlock asked, frowning as he looked at John.

"Nothing." John muttered, and Marie also frowned while Sherlock noted: "You're guilty. You don't have to be –it was my and Marie's choices to do what we did."

"Yes, I know." John nodded, and Sherlock questioned in confusion: "What's the problem?"

"Nothing." John repeated, and Marie sighed: "John… you're not really convincing, and we're just worried about you."

"No, it's… it's nothing." John emphasized, and Sherlock observed: "You're not guilty of anything, I assure you-"

"You're wrong." John interrupted flatly, something he rarely ever said to Sherlock.

Sherlock frowned, while Marie watched John with a deep frown as the man glanced away before he tilted his head to look just behind Sherlock and Marie as he said quietly: "She was wrong about me."

Both Sherlock and Marie frowned while behind the two, Mary tilted her head questioningly as Sherlock asked in confusion: "Mary? How so?"

John turned, glancing to the fireplace as he sucked in another deep breath, before looking back at Sherlock as he explained flatly: "She thought that if you put yourself in harm's way I'd... I'd rescue you or something. But I didn't – not 'til she told me to."

He looked briefly at Mary, before looking away as he said softly: "And that's how this works. You know that, too, don't you?"

He nodded at Sherlock and Marie, before taking a deep breath and pointing to what Sherlock and Marie thought was an empty space but where John could 'see' Mary as he stated: "She taught me to be the man she already thought I was. Just like you try to be the man Marie needs you to be, and you, you are the husband you _vowed_ to be."

Marie cocked her head at him, noting the pained way he spoke, while Sherlock sighed as he said: "Forgive me, but you are doing yourself a disservice. I'll admit I am not the perfect man Marie should have-"

"I disagree." Marie chimed in absently, and Sherlock went on: "Thank you, but we know it's true - I'm sitting here recovering from 'addiction'. But John."

Sherlock fixed John with a look as he said: ""I have known _many_ people in this world but made few friends, and I can _safely_ say-"

"I cheated on her." John said quietly.

Sherlock stopped, almost freezing in place from shock while Marie blinked and went completely still in utter surprise at John's almost casual but exploding confession. Mary straightened from her place, moving to stand by the desk instead as she stared at John while the two Holmes's remained utterly unable to react let alone speak.

John gestured at Sherlock as he asked almost dryly: "No clever come-back?"

He then turned abruptly to face the ghost of his wife, whom only he could see, as he admitted to her at last: "I cheated on you, Mary."

Both Sherlock and Marie blinked at John's second unexpected action, but they stayed silent, simply watching as John explained in a pained voice: "There was a woman on the bus, and I had a plastic daisy in my hair - I'd been playing with Rosie."

He paused for a moment, lowering his gaze before looking back at Mary seriously as he continued with an effort at remaining neutral: "And this girl just smiled at me. That's all it was; it was a smile."

Marie's eyes flickered between the thin air John was talking to and John himself, while Sherlock fixed his gaze on John as John continued, his voice starting to sound agitated with guilt and self-loathing: "We texted constantly. You wanna know when? Every time you left the room, that's when. When you were feeding our daughter; when you were stopping her from crying – that's when."

John swallowed, his eyes starting to fill with tears, as he said in a low voice: "That's all it was, just texting… But I wanted more."

Both Sherlock and Marie gazed at John, varying levels of pity and solemn understanding in their eyes as John said to a tearful but smiling 'Mary': "And d'you know something? I still do. I'm not the man you thought I was."

He laughed slightly, a hint of bitterness in his voice as he choked: "Even Sherlock bloody Holmes, who everyone declared a sociopath, was better, was faithful when things became strained; stayed true to only one woman, is the perfect husband."

Sherlock lowered his eyes, while John took a deep breath and admitted: "I'm not that guy. I never could be. But that's the point."

He sniffed, fighting back his tears as he bit his lip to keep it from trembling as he whispered brokenly: "That's the whole point."

John's voice cracked as Mary smiled at him, just staring at him with tears in her own eyes, and John said hoarsely but honestly: "Who you thought I was... is the man who I _want_ to be."

The two Holmes's watched silently as John continued to fight tears, and Mary smiled gently at John.

"Well, then..." She murmured with a small laugh. "John Watson..."

John continued to stare at her as she gave him a fond smile, and urged lightly: "Get the hell on with it."

She nodded at him, smiling through her own tearful gaze, before she disappeared from before his sight forever. John lowered his head into his hand as he started to cry, and Sherlock and Marie exchanged quick looks before she moved as Sherlock stood carefully.

Moving slowly, Sherlock walked up to John as the blond man sobbed into his hand, tears streaming down his face and falling to the floor as he at last let loose all the tears that had refused to fall since Mary's death.

"It's okay." Sherlock murmured as he carefully drew John into a hug, embracing his friend and offering the comfort only he could give at the moment.

 _"_ It's _not_ okay." John sobbed as he cried with his head bent and resting against Sherlock's shoulder, and Sherlock had to admit: "No."

He lowered his own head as he held John close while the man wept, and he murmured softly: "But it is what it is."

He glanced at Marie over John's shoulder, and she nodded at him to show she agreed he'd done and said the best thing he could. John continued to cry, letting the tears soothe his wounded heart and spirit while his two best friends stayed with him, guarding him and protecting him until he learnt to move on from the pain of the past towards a better tomorrow.

* * *

 _An hour or so later_

"So, Molly's going to meet us at this 'cake place'." Sherlock said, his voice twisting and his face scrunching at the last two words.

"Well, it's your birthday. Cake is obligatory." John replied pointedly, as Marie added: "Greg's going to be there, too. He sounded absolutely delighted."

"Probably because he's also finally figured out when Sherlock's birthday is." John mused while they all shrugged on their jackets. "I can't believe even he, a detective from Scotland Yard, didn't know."

"Well, he _is_ an idiot." Sherlock muttered.

"Behave." Marie scolded lightly, and John added: "If you do, you can have cake."

"Oh, well. I suppose a sugar high's some sort of substitute." Sherlock muttered, and John pointed at him as he said warningly: "Sherlock."

Marie chuckled, while Sherlock grinned, and he muttered: "Right then."

John nodded as Sherlock tucked up his coat collar, and the shorter man was just about to walk out when Sherlock said hesitantly: "You know..."

John paused, turning back to Sherlock questioningly, and Sherlock said seriously: "It's not my place to say but... it _was_ just texting."

He looked at John meaningfully, while Sherlock continued: "People text. That's all."

John looked away, while Marie took Sherlock's hand, silently urging him, and Sherlock finished with a deep breath: "It's not a pleasant thought, John, but I have this terrible feeling, from time to time, that we might all just be… human."

John raised a brow as he looked back up, asking: "Even you?"

"No." Sherlock corrected, making John blink in confusion. "Even _you_."

Sherlock looked at John meaningfully, while John paused and stared back at him for a moment. His eyes flickered down to Marie and then back up to Sherlock as he weighed what Sherlock had just said, while Marie looked at Sherlock proudly. He fidgeted a little under her gaze, but held John's firmly, making her smile even wider.

Marie's eyes flickered to the corner of the room, as John finally said awkwardly: "Cake?"

"Cake." Sherlock nodded, before pausing and saying: "Oh, um..."

Marie's grin widened as Sherlock walked across the room, going to the cabinet right beside the dining table he mostly used as a desk and digging around in the top drawer.

"What?" John asked in surprise, looking between Sherlock and a highly amused Marie. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's _wrong_..." Marie chuckled, while Sherlock straightened up and turned as he placed his deerstalker on his head.

John burst out laughing, joining in Marie's amusement, while he asked: "Seriously?"

"I'm Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock replied. "I wear the damn hat."

He kicked the drawer closed behind him as he walked out of the flat, taking Marie's hand and placing it on his arm as he walked out the door while calling over his shoulder: "Isn't that right, Mary?"

John paused, startled, while Marie laughed: "Looks like you win, Mary!"

The couple disappeared down the stairs as John turned to stare back into the flat, blinking, before he shook his head. With a small smile, he turned and followed his friends out the door, leaving the empty flat behind.

*A/N If anyone was curious why there's been a random update, **I realized I missed a few chapters when updating!** I'm surprised it didn't confuse you, but there were gaps in the writing because of it! So, I've corrected my huge error, and uploaded the missing chapters: for those interested, it is the **new chapter 17 and chapter 20** ; and it should make things in the plot clearer. I'm so sorry again!


	23. MISS ME?

_Several days later_

"You seem so much better, John."

"Yeah, I... I am." John replied in agreement as he sat across from his latest therapist once more. "I _think_ I am. Not _all_ day; not _every_ day, but, uh, you know."

"It is what it is?" His therapist suggested, and John nodded as he agreed: "Yeah."

"And Rosie?" His therapist asked, tilting her head, and John replied lightly: "Oh, beautiful, perfect, unprecedented in the history of children."

He smiled, before adding: _"_ That's not _my_ bias; that's scientific fact."

He chuckled to himself as he thought about how vehemently Sherlock would likely disagree with his statement – for all that Sherlock claimed he only believed in cool, hard logic, he was a surprisingly biased parent.

"Good." His therapist noted, and John smiled again. "And Sherlock Holmes?"

"Back to normal." John shrugged. "Him and Marie."

* * *

 _221B Baker Street_

"Get _out_!" Sherlock ordered.

Clean-shaven once more and in his regular black suit, Sherlock wrenched the flat door open, while his client protested: "She's possessed by the Devil! I swear my wife is channeling Satan!"

"Yes, _boring_." Sherlock snapped back, before gesturing out the door as he ordered angrily: "Go away!"

The male client huffed in exasperation as he stormed out of the room, followed by his wife who protested to Sherlock irritably: "I'm _not_ channeling Satan!"

"Why _not_ , given your immediate alternative?" Sherlock snapped back, before throwing the door shut behind his irritating clients.

"Another dud?" Marie asked as she walked in from the kitchen, already wearing her coat, and Sherlock scowled.

"You're ready already?" He asked, a hint of plaintive pouting in his tone, and she smiled.

"Don't you want your children back?" She asked lightly, and Sherlock immediately perked up.

"You're bringing them home today?" He asked, trying to sound nonchalant but unable to hide his eagerness. Marie laughed.

"Of course – I'd say they've been away from home for too long, wouldn't you?" She asked, grinning as Sherlock's previously annoyed expression melted away completely.

Kissing him lightly, she patted his cheek fondly as she moved towards the landing, calling over her shoulder: "I need to run an errand first, but I should be back by tonight."

"Errand?" Sherlock asked, puzzled, and Marie smiled.

"It won't take long." She promised, and he scowled. She could see him trying to scan her, and noted the way his eyes narrowed as he realized he couldn't read anything off of her.

"Dangerous?" He asked casually, but he didn't fool her.

"I'd let you know if it was." She replied, giving his curly hair a fond ruffle before walking out of the flat. "Don't think about following me, Sherlock!"

He scowled, pouting at her back as she disappeared down the landing. He briefly considered following her anyway but decided against it – she'd figure it out immediately. And not only would she not be happy with him, she'd probably be able to lose him regardless.

Wracking his brains, Sherlock wondered briefly if she was preparing something for Rosie's birthday, but decided that wasn't right – she wouldn't hide that from him and she was definitely hiding something. He'd gotten a hint that Marie expected to be moving a lot, given her unrestrictive choice in clothing, but what…?

Sherlock's thoughts trailed off as he saw something in the corner of the flat - an unassuming piece of paper, hidden from view behind the TV... and which should not have been there.

Slowly, he leant down, picking it up with a frown before his eyes widened as he realized where it was from.

* * *

 _John's therapist's place_

"What about his brother?" John's therapist asked, and John shrugged as he answered: "Mycroft? He's fine."

* * *

 _Mycroft's office_

"So, you're off now?" Mycroft questioned as he shrugged on his coat. "I won't see you for a week?"

"Just spending it at home..." Lady Smallwood agreed as she shrugged on her own coat. "Unless _she_ calls."

"The P.M." Mycroft murmured, his tone as disgusted as Lady Smallwood's had been while Lady Smallwood nodded as she turned to face Mycroft.

She then held out a business card to him, offering: "Here."

"What's this?" Mycroft asked, taking the card absently out of habit and glancing down at it.

"My number." Lady Smallwood answered, and Mycroft replied calmly: "I already _have_ your number."

"My _private_ number." Lady Smallwood amended, equally calmly, and Mycroft lifted a brow.

"Why would I need that?" He asked, and Lady Smallwood just blinked at him innocently as she replied rather coyly: "I don't know. Maybe you'd like a drink some time."

"Of… what?" Mycroft asked, genuinely puzzled, and Lady Smallwood answered lightly: "Up to you."

She smiled, and added as she turned: _"_ Call me."

With that, she walked out of the office, leaving him alone. Mycroft – both brows raised – turned to follow her as he chuckled dismissively, throwing the business card carelessly down on his notebook on his desk as he made to walk out as well… and then he paused. And he looked back.

* * *

 _John's therapist's place_

"I mean," John added, "obviously 'normal' and 'fine' are both relative terms when it comes to Sherlock and Mycroft. At least Marie's more normal."

He chuckled, and his therapist smiled as she agreed lightly: "Obviously."

* * *

 _Mycroft's office_

Mycroft slowly made his way back to his desk, reaching out his hand for the business card before he hesitated. He dropped his hand, tapping his fingers on the edge of the desk instead before he quickly turned away once more, starting to walk briskly out of the office once more.

* * *

 _221B Baker Street_

Sherlock held up the notepaper he'd found under the kitchen light, staring at the writing on it including the small spatter of blood across the first word.

"She _was_ real." He muttered in shock, frowning deeply as he tried to figure out what this all meant. If the 'Faith Smith' he'd met that night he'd thought he was high was a real woman... who was she?

Suddenly, Sherlock's eyes widened as he smelt the faintest hint of something very familiar coming from the paper.

* * *

 _Mycroft's office_

Mycroft was in his doorway, literally one foot out of the door, when he stopped again. He stood still for a long moment, staring thoughtfully into space before he eventually turned back into his office once more.

This time, he reached for the card, swiping it quickly off of his notebook, which was open to two pages of his scribbled note reminders.

On the left, were the words:

Locate 'M'

Monitor —

Baker Street.

Blind Greenhouse.

Leaning Tomb.

Clock Face —

Elizabeth

Tower?

And on the right, were the words:

CALL

SHERRINFORD

2 pm

* * *

 _John's therapist's place_

"I didn't mean Mycroft." John's therapist noted. "I meant the other one."

"Wh- _which_ other one?" John asked, frowning in confusion, and his therapist explained with a soft smile: "You know – the secret one."

"Oh, that was just something I..." John smiled. "I said. I'm sure there's-"

He stopped speaking suddenly, staring at his therapist for a moment as something occurred to him.

"How did you know about that?" John asked with a small frown. "I didn't tell you that."

"You must have done." His therapist answered, frowning behind her glasses as well, but John said firmly as he eyed her warily: "I really didn't."

"Well, maybe Sherlock told me." His therapist answered with a light smile, her brown eyes soft, but John wasn't fooled by the act as he noted while shifting forward in his seat: "No, you've met Sherlock exactly once? In this room; he was off his head-"

"Oh, no, no." His therapist corrected lightly. "I-I-I met him before that."

"When?" John asked, frowning, and his therapist smiled.

"We spent a night together." She answered.

John blinked rapidly and alarmingly, but his therapist continued easily: "It was lovely. We had chips."

She smiled, and her voice changed suddenly to an overemphasized northern English accent as she quoted her words from a night over a month ago now: "You're not what I expected, Mr. Holmes. You're... nicer."

Her smile widened, becoming almost like a Cheshire cat's, and John's frown deepened as he stared at the woman. She looked right back at him before she reached up to take off her glasses, blinking as her vision adjusted.

But as soon as her vision cleared, she was staring at John once more, and her face was eerily empty of emotion as she said back in her original accent, though that too was starting to slip slightly: "Culverton gave me Faith's original note."

She stood, going towards the large French windows as she explained: "A mutual friend put us in touch."

John could only stare numbly as his therapist locked the door to the porch, taking out the key as she turned back to John saying in an English accent: "Did Sherlock ever tell you about the note? I added some deductions for Sherlock."

She dropped her glasses and the key onto a side table away from John as she mused: "He was quite good."

* * *

 _221B Baker Street_

Sherlock searched about the kitchen frantically, looking for something in the drawers. When he finally found it, he reached up towards the kitchen overhead light, switching it off and throwing the kitchen into near-darkness as he closed all the doors.

* * *

 _John's therapist's place_

"But..." John's 'therapist' sneered as she turned to face John once more. "He didn't get the _big_ one."

* * *

 _221B Baker Street_

Sherlock held up his ultraviolet torch, holding it to the note as he stared at the paper – or rather, the writing now apparent in the blue glow of his torch. How he had missed the linseed oil on the paper was anyone's guess; he was probably too high at the time to realize his mistake.

And boy was that coming back to bite him, Sherlock realized with terror gripping his heart as he stared at the two words written in the middle of the page in large caps, revealed by the ultraviolet light: 'MISS ME?'

Sherlock raised his eyes from the note, and he breathed in horror: "Marie."

* * *

 _John's therapist's place_

John's 'therapist' bent forward a little, gasping as she removed a contact from her right eye.

She slowly lifted her head once more as she stared at John, revealing light blue eyes that were eerily familiar, right down to the cold, calculating glint. But not even Mycroft's eyes were that dead, and John could only stare as a slow icy feeling slid up his spine while the woman said in a full English accent: "In fairness, though, he does have excellent taste in chips."

She then swiped her hand across her head, brushing back her hair and tucking it behind her left ear to reveal a small, plastic daisy.

"What's that?" John asked tightly as he stared at the toy, and the woman asked lightly: "What's what?"

"The flower in your hair: it's like I had on the bus." John said slowly and in a low voice, and the woman smiled.

Taking the flower from her ear, she walked towards him as she said: "You looked _very_ sweet. But then…"

She bent down so she was level with his eyes, and her accent turned Scottish as she quoted: "You have such nice eyes."

John fell back in his chair, stunned by this revelation. He could easily remember the pretty redhead from the bus, the one he'd _cheated on_ Mary with, and it was a crushing blow to realize this was the real woman behind the mask. A mask he hadn't seen until too late… in every circumstance.

"Amazing," the woman before him noted back in what was apparently her regular English accent, "the times a man doesn't really look at your face."

She turned back to walk across the room as she listed: "Oh, you can hide behind a sexy smile, or a walking cane... or just be a therapist, talking about _you_..." she turned back to John with a bored expression, " _all_ the time."

John quickly moved to get to his feet, but the woman said swiftly as she reached into the fruit bowl behind her: "Oh, _please_ don't go anywhere."

She held the gun up, pointed right at John's chest as she said lightly: "I'm sure the therapist who actually lives here wouldn't want blood on the carpet."

John stood stock-still, his hands in the air as he stared at the woman while she paused briefly, as though thinking, before noting: "Oh, hang on, it's fine. She's in a sack in the airing cupboard."

"Who are you?" John asked in a low voice, staring at the woman grimly and she smiled.

"Isn't it obvious?" She asked, dropping the gun to her side as she let her arm hang while she stared at John. "Haven't you guessed?"

Her smile dropped, and she said impatiently: "I'm Eurus."

That only increased John's confusion, and he shook his head slightly as he asked: "Eurus?"

"Silly name, isn't it?" Eurus said disdainfully. "Greek. Means 'the East Wind'."

John's heart almost stopped as he stared at the woman, recalling the one time he'd heard a similar phrase, while Eurus grumbled: "My parents loved silly names, like… Eurus... or Mycroft..." she looked back at John with a small smile, "or Sherlock."

John's mouth parted slightly as the full impact of what Eurus was saying hit him, while the woman chuckled: "Oh, _look_ at him. Didn't it ever occur to you – not even once – that Sherlock's secret brother might just be Sherlock's secret sister?"

John stared at Eurus, blinking rapidly as he tried to fully process what was happening, and Eurus frowned.

"Huh." She murmured. "It's making a funny face."

She raised her gun and pointed it at John again, making the man flinch slightly as she said almost boredly: "I think I'll put a hole in it."

John's eyes widened, his hands still in the air as Eurus fired her gun… just after a whirl of dark hair came flying into the room, leaping across the small sitting room to shove John out of the way just as there was the loud bang of the gun going off and something shattered.

And John, whirling around to look at his savior, shouted in alarm and fear: "MARIE!"


	24. Appointment in Sumatra

Mycroft sat in his private theater room in his state mansion house, seated in the familiar comfortable armchair right before the film projector as it played the old black-and-white film on the screen before him.

His head propped up on his fingers as his arm rested on the arm of his chair, Mycroft smirked as he watched one of the few films he enjoyed, mouthing along the male lead's lines as he did so. The only thing that could have made the experience more enjoyable was if there was cake, but since he was on a strict diet, he settled for his alcohol and a small treat as he watched the scene before him play out.

Suddenly, for a split second of a second, the footage glitched, showing a yellowed image that looked like an old photograph but had been too fleeting for him to see exactly what it was, before the film resumed.

Mycroft frowned, slowly lifting his head off of his fingers, just as the film was cut once more by a video shot of a young boy, overweight and about eleven years old.

The film continued to flicker, going from the movie to the young boy who was looking up at the camera with a slightly forced smile, and Mycroft turned to glance at his film projector with a deep frown.

The film continued normally as he did, and he looked back at the screen in bewildered confusion. Carefully, he doused his cigarette in the ashtray on the side table, watching the screen warily, waiting.

And then it happened again.

The boy was back, clearly of Mycroft from his childhood as he smiled at the camera before looking back down awkwardly, the scene continuously shifting and glitching with the film.

Mycroft's eyes widened as he watched the scenes switching, the family footage switching from one of him to one of a young Sherlock, about four years old, playing with a beach ball as the family enjoyed a picnic at the beach. His mother waved at the camera, clearly being held by his father.

A small smile broke out across his face without him even realizing at the footage, as he remembered that time when Sherlock was younger. When his family was… less dysfunctional.

The scene switched again, going back to a young Mycroft munching on his lunch while his father sat beside him. The footage was no longer breaking, simply rolling naturally, and it moved away to show both parents, Mycroft eating in the corner, and the young Sherlock running about on the beach far behind them, trotting back towards them.

The scene then moved right as Sherlock returned, running up and jumping at Mycroft, hugging the older brother as the young Mycroft tried to read his book. The elder brother smiled, clearly amused by his brother's antics, and there was no missing the genuine care and love in his expression in that moment – which was probably why it was one of his mother's favourite clips.

Mycroft liked the footage for a different reason – and even now, he let out a small laugh and a smile as he stared at young Sherlock, back in the days when he'd really looked up to his brother and loved him as openly as any innocent child could.

And then, it happened.

As the scene moved to a further shot of the family, capturing the two boys and their parents seated behind them as they enjoyed their picnic, two words in large, spidery font flashed across the screen on a white background for a split second:

'I'M BACK'

The footage returned to the image of the happy family for a second, before another image – this time of a close up of bright blue eyes – flashed across the screen again, followed by the words: 'I'M BACK' once more, zoomed in close, before it dissolved as though it had been chemically burnt.

Mycroft's eyes widened, before his head shot to the side as his film projector sparked and began to smoke, the reel spinning off wildly as the device overheated.

Mycroft stood immediately, staring at the white screen for a moment as the projector continued to roll pure white light now that it had no film to project. Calmly, Mycroft strode slowly yet purposefully across the room, testing the theater room doorknob. Unsurprisingly, it was locked.

What was surprising was how anyone could have snuck into his own home to play this trick _and_ lock him in without anyone – least of all Mycroft himself – realizing.

' _Mycroft…_ '

Mycroft tensed as he heard the female voice echoing around him, coming from the speakers in the room while the sound of running feet could be heard above him. A familiar female voice, and _if_ it were her… but it couldn't be…

Well, he'd have to figure that out later. Right now, it appeared it was time for him to do something he disliked incredibly – it was time for action.

Mycroft moved slowly back into the room, before glancing to the side as a creaking noise was heard and Mycroft watched as the wooden paneling on the wall slid back to reveal a secret door. A secret door no-one other than him should know about.

Frowning, but determining that he really did need to move, Mycroft stepped out carefully into the corridor, peering carefully out into his home as he stepped through the doorway.

Before he jumped as the door slammed shut behind him with a loud thud. Turning back into his hallway, Mycroft took a careful step forward as he warily noted the lights flickering further down the corridor.

Reaching forward, Mycroft quickly grabbed his umbrella from its stand right at the edge of the corridor, pulling the umbrella part off of its handle to reveal the thin sword blade hidden inside. Holding the sword readied before him, Mycroft pulled out his phone, switching on the flashlight so that he would be able to see in the darkness of his own home.

If he weren't a _little_ afraid – only a little mind – Mycroft would have been incredibly annoyed at this game he was being forced to play _in his own house._ But, since this was proving to be a serious broach of security…

Mycroft paused as he spotted a small figure at the end of the hallway, looking like a little girl in pigtails.

' _Impossible._ '

Ignoring the small voice in his head, Mycroft steadily approached the figure, his sword and torch raised at the ready.

 _"Mycroft…_ " The female voice whispered again, voice echoing around the room eerily.

Mycroft tensed, preparing himself as he took a final step forward, his flashlight illuminating the figure before him… to reveal a little girl mannequin with a long dark wig on its head, the hair bunched up into pigtails.

Feeling irritated and embarrassed by his momentary fear, Mycroft turned to face the hall as he called sharply: "Why don't you come out and show yourself? I don't have time for this."

"We have time, brother dear." A young voice, though whether female or male was hard to discern. Mycroft would peg it as a young girl, however, and he listened with a frown as it murmured. "All the time in the world."

Suddenly, a small, girlish figure burst out behind him, running up the stairs before he could turn around and see it clearly. Still, it was a clue and Mycroft quickly chased up the stairs after it as it ran up onto the upper landing of his house… only for the figure to disappear.

The lights were still illuminated in this area of the house, shining down on the many framed paintings in Mycroft's gallery hallway, and Mycroft pocketed his phone once more just as a child's voice sing-songed: "Mycroft!"

"Who are you?" Mycroft demanded as he walked slowly down the hallway, and the voice – sounding more feminine and more adult-like now – answered still in a sing-song voice: "You _know_ who!"

Mycroft shook his head, and this time he spoke his thought aloud: "Impossible."

" _Nothing's_ impossible." The female voice replied, just as the lights before Mycroft began to flicker and turn off. "You of _all_ people know that."

Mycroft looked over, just as the painting of a man in historical dress began to 'bleed' from the corners of its eyes and smiling mouth. Mycroft moved down the hallway, staring at the paintings as each and every one of the ones with people in them started to do the same thing, bleeding out of their eyes and mouths.

"Coming to get you!" The female voice, sounding child-like once more sang.

Behind him, a helmet from a suit of armour suddenly came crashing down the hall, landing with a heavy thud that made Mycroft flinch just slightly as he turned to face the hallway once more.

"There's an East Wind coming, Mycroft!" The voice said, still in a sing-song tone but becoming more and more ominous. "Coming to get you!"

"You can't have got out!" Mycroft shouted sharply, but there was no denying the terror in his voice and face as he backed away from the hallway. "You _can't_!"

From the corner around which the helmet had come flying from, a clown peered out, decked out in full gear complete with red frizzy hair and painted face. Mycroft didn't have to be able to see clearly to know it was expressionless, the dead expression looking even worse under the painted face as it leaned over at a full 90 degrees before stepping into the hallway to face him.

It slowly reached over to draw a sword from the nearby suit of armour – not the one it had stolen the helmet from – before it held its sword up and positioned itself in a duel position before Mycroft.

Mycroft himself straightened up, lifting his sword before his face as he stared the clown down. Mycroft moved first, taking a strong step forward and closer to the clown as it stood waiting, waving its hands slightly as it watched Mycroft warily.

Mycroft suddenly raised his free hand, revealing he was clutching a handkerchief, which he then wrapped around the blade of his sword. With a swift click, Mycroft removed the blade, discarding it as he pointed the miniature gun hidden inside the umbrella handle right at the clown. And he fired.

"No use, Mycroft." The female voice murmured again as the gun simply clicked uselessly.

Mycroft repeatedly tried the trigger, but the ammunition was clearly empty, and his eyes widened as he looked at the clown while the voice whispered: "There's no defence, and nowhere to hide."

The clown roared before charing at him, and Mycroft's eyes widened even further before he quickly turned and bolted.

Racing down the hallway, he charged down the nearest flight of stairs and towards the doors leading to the first floor sitting room, but they were locked. He quickly moved to try the front doors, which also proved useless, just as the clown appeared on the landing upstairs, staring down at him.

Mycroft heaved and shoved at the doors desperately, trying to get them open as he glanced back in alarm at the shadowy figure upstairs. It was then that he noticed a second figure, walking out along the side landing behind the curtains, and throwing its full shadow down onto the carpet before Mycroft as it walked with the moon behind it.

A very familiar shadow, with a very familiar, two-sided hat.

Mycroft dropped the doorhandles as he turned in complete shock while Sherlock stepped out from behind the curtains, complete with deerstalker, across from the sword-wielding clown.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft gasped, before he pleaded quickly: "Help me!"

Sherlock raised his hand to his mouth before letting out a piercing dog whistle. Mycroft blinked as all the lights in his house turned on, and the clown stared down at Mycroft just as a short man walked out from a side hallway, dressed in a pigtailed wig and little girl's dress.

"Experiment complete." Sherlock called loudly while Mycroft stared at the man-dressed-as-a-little girl. "Conclusion: I have a sister."

"This was you?" Mycroft asked, his face twisting with anger as he turned his head sharply to glare up at Sherlock. "All of this was _you_?"

"Conclusion two." Sherlock continued, ignoring his brother as he said savagely: "My sister – Eurus, apparently – has been incarcerated from an early age in a secure institution controlled by my brother."

Mycroft had raised his hands to his eyes, pressing the palms onto his closed eyeballs as he willed himself to count to ten. Sherlock waved mockingly at him, calling in what could have been a light tone but came out as harsh and angry: "Hey, bro!"

"Why," Mycroft groaned tiredly, "would you do this..."

He trailed off as he searched for an appropriate word before lowering his hands and looking up at Sherlock as he snarled through grit teeth: "This _pantomime_? _Why?"_

"Conclusion three." Sherlock replied coldly as he stared down at his brother without any remorse. "You are _terrified_ of her."

"You have no idea what you're dealing with." Mycroft replied in a dark voice, his voice rising sharply and angrily as he shouted: _"None_ at all."

"New information." John called as he stepped out grimly from another side hallway, facing Mycroft. "She's out."

"That's not possible." Mycroft hissed, but Sherlock interrupted sharply: "It's more than possible. She was John's therapist."

"What?" Mycroft frowned, and Marie added as she stepped out behind John: "She shot me during their session, too."

Mycroft stared at the woman, who was looking pale and somewhat tight-lipped. He noted the tension around her, the telltale signs of pain apparently coming from her right shoulder, knew what must have happened.

' _Well,_ ' he thought dourly, ' _at least that explains Sherlock's anger._ '

* * *

 _A few days earlier_

"Marie!" John shouted in alarm as the woman landed slightly on top of him, bleeding heavily from the shoulder.

She was wearing a simple dark blue shirt (which she was currently getting blood all over) over black leggings and black firm-soled combat boots, a look John recognized as one that said she'd come prepared for the worst.

Her outfit alarmed him almost as much as her wound, but she shrugged as she answered tightly: "It's all right, John, it missed – mostly."

It was then that John registered that the sound of shattering glass he had heard had come from _behind_ him, and he glanced back to see jagged splinters in the French windows erupting from the small bullet hole in the centre.

Marie, meanwhile, hadn't taken her eyes off Eurus, who stared back with slightly narrowed eyes.

"Eurus Holmes." Marie greeted with cold civility, strangely quiet after her explosive entrance. "I'd say it's a pleasure to finally meet you… but that would be a lie."

"Victoire Marie Spencer." Eurus replied slowly, a small but empty smile appearing on her face. "I would say the same."

"Wait, hang on, you know about her?" John asked incredulously, and Marie nodded once.

"Mycroft warned me about 'Sherrinford'." She explained cryptically, her eyes never leaving Eurus who's smiled widened fractionally.

"I've heard about you, too." Eurus informed the younger woman, her head tipping sideways with a curious smile on her face that made Marie's eyes narrow, for it reminded her of someone else – someone long dead.

"Yeah, 'M' mentioned you'd know about me." Marie answered flatly. "Or should I say… Sebastian Moran."

"Who? What?" John asked, and Marie explained as she kept her eyes fixed on Eurus: "He worked for Moriarty back in the day; and he was _supposedly_ dead after evading capture when Sherlock went around the world cleaning up after Jim's death."

"But…" John asked, still confused, but Marie went on as she addressed Eurus: "You used him as your middle-man to manipulate Vivian Norbury."

John stiffened instantly, while Eurus shrugged.

"Oh, it was just a _little_ bit of fun." She answered, clearly not affected. "All I did was tell him Sherlock was close to finding the woman."

"And to tell Moran I was onto him." Marie answered sharply, and John's eyes bugged.

' _What?!_ ' He thought, while Eurus smirked.

"Yes…" She murmured as she fixed her mismatched eyes on Marie. "I knew what you would do while Sherlock worked on damaging himself. I had some… _very_ good sources to know how you would react – who you would chase."

Marie glared back, while John asked incredulously: "Hang on, what are you saying? That Marie, you found this, this Moran?"

"Yes." Marie answered cryptically, and John asked in confusion: "Why didn't I hear about this before? And where is he, then?"

"He's dead. For certain, this time." Marie informed John bluntly, making the man pause. There was no questioning from her tone exactly how she knew this fact.

"But my question today isn't that." Marie said lowly, dangerously as she stared at Eurus. "My questions is: what _exactly_ are you going to do with Sherlock? I doubt you escaped Sherrinford just to play 'dress-up' a few times."

She eyed Eurus's therapist outfit pointedly, and the Holmes sister smiled.

"Oh, _Sherlock_." Eurus replied coolly. "I have missed him, and I am going to have such fun with him."

Marie's eyes narrowed, while John demanded warily: "Sorry, have 'fun' with him?"

"Yes." Eurus answered, still staring at Marie. "It will be so fun to break him. Him…"

Her eyes moved passed Marie.

"And John Watson…"

Her eyes moved to the side.

"Mycroft…"

Her eyes snapped back to Marie as she finished: "And you."

Marie's jaw tightened as Euros smiled.

"I am going to break all of you." She purred, before her eyes narrowed slightly. "So, what are you prepared to do about it?"

There was a long pause as the two women measured each other, before Marie spoke again.

"Anything." Marie replied, quietly but darkly.

John shivered, while Eurus smiled.

"I look forward to testing that."

And with that, she fired her gun once more, hitting Marie with a tranquilizer dart. Before John could even react, Eurus had fired again, hitting John, and the two friends passed out while Eurus slipped away - five minutes before Sherlock arrived on a stolen motorbike, having worked out instantly where Marie had gone after seeing Eurus's secret message.


	25. Client

"Oh, for God's sake." Mycroft groaned. "I should have known Sherlock knew where Marie kept disappearing to in the last few months."

"Of course I knew." Sherlock snapped at the same time Marie scoffed: "Of course he knew."

"In fact," Sherlock continued with narrowed eyes on his brother, "I'm surprised this sister of mine knew it, but you didn't."

Mycroft rubbed his forehead, exhausted and aggravated, and more than a little worried.

"Why didn't you tell me you knew who 'M' was?" He asked Marie at last, glancing at the dark-haired woman, who raised a brow in return.

"Why didn't you tell me Eurus knew Jim Moriarty?" Marie countered.

Mycroft opened his mouth to protest, but Marie cut him off as she said sharply: "Don't lie to me, Mycroft – I'm through with secrets now."

Mycroft closed his mouth as Marie stated, eyeing Mycroft closely: "She knew I'd chase Sebastian, and she _knew_ I was coming. That bullet didn't just miss; she timed it precisely so that it wouldn't kill John because she _knew_ I was coming. How else can you explain the two tranquilisers she had loaded right after the real bullet?"

Marie fixed Mycroft with an assessing look as she pointed out: "There are only two people in this world who could have told her enough about me for her to predict my moves. And since I'm guessing it wasn't Sherlock, considering he didn't even know Eurus existed until a few days ago, I'd say it's fair to say Eurus met Jim at some point despite being imprisoned for most of her life."

Marie raised a brow as she finished: "And either you're stupider than I gave you credit for and didn't know about it for the last at least three years that Jim's been dead, or you knew they'd met."

Mycroft heaved a sigh, his shoulders drooping in defeat as he rubbed his forehead tiredly.

"Yeah, just maybe he's stupider than you gave him credit for." John deadpanned, and Mycroft closed his eyes as he massaged his temples against the migraine he could feel coming.

Sherlock meanwhile made his way down the stairs, calling to the two men he'd hired to frighten Mycroft: "Right, you two. Wiggins has got your money by the gate."

The man dressed as the girl Mycroft had chased gave a delighted thumbs up before turning and dashing away as Sherlock added sternly: " _Don't_ spend it all in one crack den."

The clown – still standing on the upstairs landing – squeezed his big red nose, letting it squeak at them before he too walked away casually to get his agreed pay.

"Don't I get any compensation for my performance?" Marie asked with too-casual levity. "After all I did do an excellent job at mimicking your sister's voice."

Mycroft shot her a look of utter disbelief – which she ignored – while Sherlock answered with equal nonchalance as his wife: "Mm, how about I redress your shoulder and we call it square?"

"Add dinner, and it's a deal." Marie agreed, and John chimed in: "Better hurry if you want to get dinner – even the Chinese at the end of Baker Street will be closing soon."

Mycroft rubbed his head in aggravation as Sherlock finally reached the bottom of the stairs, and the younger Holmes brother gave a false smile as he said insincerely: "Oh, I hope we didn't spoil your enjoyment of the movie."

With that, the consulting detective wrapped a careful arm around his wife's shoulders, leading the way towards one of the side doors.

"You're just _leaving_?" Mycroft demanded in disbelief, turning to look at the pair.

Marie glanced at him, her expression unreadable, as Sherlock paused to look at his brother over his shoulder as he answered flatly: "Well, we're not staying _here_. Eurus is coming and, uh, _someone's_ disabled all your security."

Mycroft's eye twitched and he instinctively glanced at Marie.

"By the way, it wasn't me." Marie informed Mycroft, a flash of amusement crossing her face as she saw him read the truth in her words.

Mycroft scowled once more at Sherlock, who just smiled widely and – if possible – more insincerely than before. He then turned to the side door once more, and both he and Marie walked out of the mansion calmly as Sherlock added over his shoulder: "Sleep well!"

The couple strode off while Mycroft gaped after them for a moment. The older Holmes then turned sharply to John as the shorter man started to follow his friends out, and Mycroft demanded: "Dr. Watson. _Why_ would he do that to me? That was insane!"

"Uh, yes." John agreed. "Well, _someone_ convinced him that you wouldn't tell the truth unless you were actually wetting yourself."

Mycroft – had he been any one else – might have dropped his jaw at John's words. As it was, his eyes narrowed slightly at John as he repeated: "'Someone'?"

"It wasn't Marie." John added, and Mycroft answered dryly as he continued to drill holes into John's forehead: "No, I didn't think so."

John licked his lips slightly before he shrugged, and turned away once more. He stopped, however, turning back to Mycroft as the man snapped bitterly: "So that's it, is it? You're just going?"

John feigned innocence as he turned back to Mycroft, saying lightly: "Well, don't worry. There's a place for people like you – the desperate, the terrified; the ones with nowhere else to run."

" _What_ place?" Mycroft bit out, his posture stiff and tightly coiled but still unable to fully hide his shaken core.

John frowned slightly, eyeing Mycroft as though wondering if the other man was being serious or not.

"221B, Baker Street." John explained as though it were obvious – which, to him, it was.

Mycroft closed his eyes, grinding his jaw slightly in irritation, but he finally let out a small, resigned sigh before he snapped open his eyes once more as John called while walking out the door at last: "See you in the morning. If there's a queue, join it!"

"For God's sake!" Mycroft finally exploded as he spat after the shorter man, his face twisting with irritation and anger. "This is not one of your idiot cases."

Before he'd even finished speaking, John had lifted a finger and turned back to Mycroft, and as Mycroft finished John added casually: "You might wanna close that window."

He pointed to the window in the far upper corridor, where Sherlock had gotten into the mansion, before looking at Mycroft as he finished pointedly: "There _is_ an East Wind coming."

With another fake, small smile, John turned and walked out of the mansion, leaving Mycroft to slowly turn to look at the window with apprehension and fear written all over his face.

* * *

 _The next morning_

 _221B Baker Street_

Marie raised a brow, torn between amusement and annoyance, as she eyed Mycroft while Sherlock ignored his brother, simply sitting in his signature move with his fingers steepled against his chin while he leant forwards in his armchair.

John was sitting in his own armchair, twirling a pen absently in his hand as he stared at Marie where she sat on the arm of Sherlock's chair, while Mycroft himself stood stiffly in the middle of the arm beside the 'client chair', his arms folded across his chest as he fumed at the rest of the room's occupants.

It had been roughly ten minutes that they'd all stayed, unmoving, in their respective spots as they held their silent battle of wills. Well, the three boys did – Marie was simply too irritated with Mycroft yet entertained by his rare outward display of childish stubbornness to interfere. That, and she had a hidden card up her sleeve.

"You have to sit in the chair."

Mycroft turned his head, glaring at Mrs. Hudson where the landlady stood, leaning against the flat doorway with her arms crossed before her own chest.

Mrs. Hudson just met his gaze evenly as she informed him snootily: "They won't talk to you unless you sit in the chair. It's the rules."

Marie hid a smile – she knew she could count of Mrs. Hudson to be the one to be their fierce housekeeper-not-a-housekeeper – while Mycroft bit back: "I'm not a _client_."

"Then get out." Sherlock returned, his tone flat and emotionless, and without even lifting his head as he continued to stare intently into space.

Mycroft shot him an incredulous look – which Sherlock naturally missed – while John turned to look at Mycroft expectantly as he tapped his pen patiently against the arm of his own armchair. Mycroft pursed his lips, but Marie also turned to give him an expectant look and finally the older Holmes caved.

Unfolding his arms, Mycroft lifted his hands as though in surrender as he finally, grudgingly seated himself in the client chair.

Sherlock lowered his hands at last, laying one on the arm of his chair while resting his other on Marie's leg. Marie absently reached down to clasp Sherlock's hand in hers as she continued to observe Mycroft as the man glanced over his shoulder back to the doorway and at Mrs. Hudson.

"She's not going to stay there, is she?" Mycroft asked flatly, gesturing at the landlady as he turned back to his brother.

Sherlock folded his lips, but he obliged his older brother for once as he turned his eyes to Mrs. Hudson and nodded slightly at the elderly woman.

Mrs. Hudson simply looked back at Mycroft and asked emotionlessly: "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Thank you." Mycroft replied curtly, and Mrs. Hudson fired back as she pointed to the kitchen: "The kettle's over there."

With that, the sassy landlady turned and walked off down the stairs, leaving a somewhat stunned Mycroft behind while Sherlock, Marie, and John all smiled slightly in amused appreciation.

Mycroft turned back to his brother, clearly aggravated but keeping his tone casual as he asked with a hint of sarcasm: "So what happens now? Are you going to make deductions?"

Marie raised a brow while Sherlock returned coolly: "You're going to tell the truth, Mycroft, pure and simple."

"If you can, that is." Marie chimed in casually, and Mycroft shot her a look before looking back at his younger brother.

"Pure and simple, hm?" Mycroft asked sarcastically, raising his own brow. "Who was it said, 'Truth is rarely pure, and never simple'?"

"I don't know and I don't care." Sherlock shot back, leaning back in his armchair so that he could face his brother properly across his crossed legs.

"So there were three of us." Sherlock noted, examining his brother intently. "I know that now. You, me, and... Eurus."

Both John and Marie also shifted, focusing their undivided attention on the two brothers as Mycroft's face became grim while he nodded just once.

"A sister I can't remember." Sherlock murmured slowly pursing his lips again in thought before he looked back at Mycroft, who exhaled deeply.

"How much has Marie already told you?" Mycroft asked, and Marie answered instead: "Everything you told me: her name, where she's being kept, and the reason you told me that she was locked up."

Sherlock sat back, becoming the observer, as Mycroft fixed Marie with an accusing look as he said: "You betrayed my trust that you would keep your word."

"I've said this before, but I'm no longer under your employment, Mycroft." Marie returned coolly. "And besides," she fixed her own green eyes on Mycroft's blue-grey ones, "I said from the beginning that I wouldn't spy on Sherlock for you."

Mycroft's jaw clenched, while John's lips curved up slightly, as Marie continued: "I kept the knowledge of Sherrinford from Sherlock while I thought it might be more dangerous for him to know than not – but now that I know she's out, Mycroft, there is no way I'm keeping something as important as Eurus from Sherlock."

Mycroft sighed again, hanging his head slightly, and Marie leant back as Sherlock sat up.

"Interesting name, Eurus." Sherlock noted, almost casually but his eyes were fixed intently on his brother once more as he prodded for details. "It's Greek, isn't it?"

His eyes shifted to look at John as he spoke, who agreed as he read off his notebook: "Yeah, uh, literally, 'the god of the East Wind'."

John looked back at Mycroft, his gaze as expectant as Sherlock's, while Marie observed silently. Mycroft's face was stern, but unlike usual it was resigned as he answered shortly but firmly: "Yes."

"'The East Wind is coming, Sherlock'."

They all turned to look at Sherlock, who was staring at the ground again as he spoke in a deep, threatening tone. Sherlock then lifted his head back to Mycroft as he accused flatly: "You used that to scare me."

"No." Mycroft answered softly, gazing at Sherlock with a mix of pity and fearful wariness.

Marie's eyes narrowed, while Sherlock retorted with a raised brow: "You turned my sister into a ghost story."

"Of _course_ I didn't." Mycroft replied, rolling his eyes once before looking at Sherlock sternly once more. "I monitored you."

"You what?" John interjected, looking up sharply at Mycroft's interesting word choice.

Mycroft turned his eyes on John, pausing for a moment as he deliberated before he finally elaborated: "Memories can resurface; wounds can re-open."

John cocked a brow in surprise, shifting in his seat to face Mycroft more intently as the man paused before adding slowly: "The roads we walk have demons beneath..."

His gaze flickered back to Sherlock as he finished: "And _yours_ have been waiting for a very long time."

Marie's hand tightened around Sherlock's as Sherlock's eyes narrowed, but he remained silent as Mycroft explained softly: "I never bullied you. I used, at discrete intervals, potential trigger words to update myself as to your mental condition. I was looking after you."

Marie's eyes flickered between the two brothers warily, while Sherlock continued to stare at his brother.

"Why can't I remember her?" Sherlock countered, his voice low but as intense as his gaze.

Mycroft paused once more, and his eyes shifted momentarily to glance at John and then away with a tight mutter: "This is a private matter."

John frowned, but before he could say anything, Sherlock said flatly: "John stays."

John looked over in surprise, while Mycroft leant forward as he hissed at his brother furiously: "Not even Marie should technically be allowed to hear this; this is _family._ "

"That's _why_ they stay!" Sherlock retorted sharply, his voice rising as he said each word distinctly while drilling holes at his brother with his determined gaze.

The two brothers remained still for a moment, locked in their heated staring competition, while Marie and John glanced at each other. A small smile appeared on the two friends' faces, both sharing the warm feeling that Sherlock's declaration had given them, before they looked away as Mycroft finally sat back in defeat.

Recognizing Mycroft's resignation, John cleared his throat before he began per usual procedure: "So, there were three Holmes kids."

He opened his notebook to a new page, readying his pen to take notes before asking Mycroft: "What was the age gap?"

"Seven years between myself and Sherlock; one year between Sherlock and Eurus." Mycroft answered bluntly, sounding somewhat peeved – probably because he wasn't getting things his way anymore.

Oh well, it was time he grew up, Marie noted, while John pointed his pen at Sherlock as he mused: "Middle child. Explains a lot."

Sherlock threw John an unimpressed look while Marie snorted a laugh that she tried to hide as a cough. Sherlock threw her an aggravated look as well, which she returned with an apologetic one while John wiggled his brows once before returning his attention to his notebook as he asked Mycroft: "So, I'm assuming she had it too?"

"Have what?" Mycroft sniped, and John shrugged: "The deduction thing."

"'The deduction thing'?" Mycroft repeated sarcastically, and Marie chimed in: "Behave, Mycroft."

"You sound like my mother." Mycroft shot back, and Marie warned: "You're lucky I only 'sound' like her. Be careful, or I'll call her hear – then you can hear the original order of 'behave, Mike' that you know you can't not follow."

Mycroft glowered at her while Sherlock smirked briefly, and John cleared his throat before he brought them back to the issue at hand: "So, she had it?"

"More than you can know." Mycroft finally answered quietly, his eyes drifting to stare blankly into space.

The tension in the room returned as the trio watched Mycroft, waiting patiently for him to continue.

"Enlighten me." John finally requested, and Mycroft began as he gestured between himself and Sherlock: "You realise I'm the smart one?"

"As you never cease to announce." Sherlock fired back, while Marie muttered: "I still beg to differ, sometimes."

John glanced at them before looking back at Mycroft as the eldest Holmes sighed: "But, Eurus - she was incandescent… Even then."

Sherlock focused on his brother intently as Mycroft explained to them: "Our abilities were professionally assessed more than once. I was… remarkable," Mycroft sighed again, "but Eurus was described as an era-defining genius; beyond Newton."

"Then why don't I remember her?" Sherlock interrupted darkly, intently, but Mycroft countered quietly as he looked back at his younger brother: "You _do_ remember her, in a way."

He gestured at Marie as he explained: "Meeting Marie has changed you in some ways, reshaped you. But even with those changes, at your core… every choice you ever made, every path you've ever taken, the _man_ you are today... is your memory of Eurus."

Marie's eyes moved between the two brothers as Sherlock slowly turned his head away from Mycroft, his gaze thoughtful, while Mycroft looked down at the floor.

"She was different from the beginning." Mycroft murmured quietly, and John and Marie exchanged worried looks. "She knew things she should never have known… as if she was somehow aware of truths beyond the normal scope."

Mycroft suddenly drew himself up, stiffening slightly as he continued to stare in the direction of the fireplace.

Marie glanced at the empty space while John asked carefully: "What's wrong?"

"Sorry." Mycroft murmured as Marie also turned concerned eyes back on him.

Mycroft's hand clenched, closing into a fist as he murmured: "The memories are disturbing."

Marie tensed, while Sherlock frowned and shook his head, demanding; "What do you mean? Examples."

"They found her with a knife once." Mycroft replied heavily. "She seemed to be cutting herself. Mother and Father were terrified; they thought it was a suicide attempt."

He heaved another sigh as he continued, looking down at his fist: "But when I asked Eurus what she was doing, she said, 'I wanted to see how my muscles worked'."

"Jesus!" John gasped, turning to look at Sherlock and Marie in shock.

Marie had stilled, her face closed off as often happened when she was greatly disturbed emotionally, while Sherlock continued to stare at Mycroft as the older brother continued: "So I asked her if she felt pain, and she said, 'Which one's pain?'"

Marie's hand unconsciously tightened before relaxing slightly once more around Sherlock's. He squeezed her hand reassuringly as he absorbed this new, and disturbing, revelation before he looked back at Mycroft.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked softly, and Mycroft closed his eyes briefly before opening them once more.

"Musgrave." Mycroft answered grimly, and the trio exchanged glances before looking back at the elder Holmes.


	26. Skeletons in the Closet

"Musgrave." Mycroft explained grimly. "The ancestral home, where there was always honey for tea."

Marie leant forward, listening intently as Mycroft continued: "And Sherlock played among the funny gravestones."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed in thought, his brows furrowing in confusion, while John questioned: "Funny how?"

"They weren't real." Mycroft explained. "The dates were all wrong. An architectural joke, which fascinated Sherlock."

"Wrong how?" Marie questioned this time, and Mycroft looked at her.

"Nemo Holmes," he replied in answer, "born 1617, died 1822… aged 32 years."

All three friends frowned, and Mycroft nodded once. John and Marie continued to look thoughtful, while Sherlock's eyes narrowed even further as he remembered faintly…

"Help succour me now..." Sherlock murmured suddenly, causing both John and Marie to look at him curiously while Mycroft simply joined his brother in murmuring to a vague sing-song tune: "…the East winds blow."

Marie looked between them, brows furrowed, as Sherlock continued to stare into space as he remembered the words to the song that a young girl had sung at some point in his past: "Sixteen by six..."

"And under we go." Mycroft finished for him, and Sherlock glanced back at Mycroft, his gaze refocusing once more.

"You're starting to remember." Mycroft noted, staring back at Sherlock intently, and Sherlock acknowledged as his eyes unfocused once more: "Fragments."

Marie glanced at him worriedly, as did John, when Sherlock abruptly said: "Redbeard."

"Redbeard?" John repeated questioningly, while Marie's brows furrowed even further as she noted: "You mentioned him before… you said he was-"

"My dog." Sherlock confirmed, and Marie said slowly: "Yes."

She turned back to Mycroft as she asked cautiously: "What does Redbeard have to do with this?"

Mycroft met her gaze evenly as he answered grimly: "Eurus took Redbeard and locked him up somewhere no-one could find him."

"What?" Marie whispered, her blood going cold, and Mycroft exhaled deeply as he added: "And she refused to say where he was."

Marie and John exchanged looks in horror as Mycroft continued heavily: "She'd only repeat that song; her little ritual. We begged and begged her to tell us where he was. But she said, 'The song is the answer'."

Sherlock was spacing out again, staring unseeingly at the flat as he recalled a dim memory from his youth of running out in a field of some sort, crying for his childhood best friend.

John and Marie were listening intently, in a mix of disturbed incredulity and sheer horror, as Mycroft finished: "But the song made no sense."

Sherlock finally snapped back to focus, turning to Mycroft as he asked intently: "What happened to Redbeard?"

"We never found him." Mycroft answered, a grim and strained smile flashing across his face momentarily before it disappeared again as he added: "But she started calling him ' _Drowned_ Redbeard', so we made our assumptions."

Sherlock stilled, apparently going into shock, while Marie breathed: "Oh, my God."

Her hand clutched Sherlock's in both comfort and to seek comfort, while Mycroft looked at her and then John as he explained: "Sherlock was traumatised. Natural, I suppose – he was, in the early days, an emotional child; but after that he was different, so changed."

His eyes moved back to Marie as he finished: "Never spoke of it again. In time, he seemed to forget that Eurus had ever even existed."

Marie pursed her lips, while John asked incredulously: "How could he forget? She was living in the same house."

"No." Mycroft answered, another strained but this time somewhat heartbroken smile appearing on his face. "They took her away."

Sherlock's head snapped back to his brother, his jaw tight, while John said in disbelief: "Why? You don't lock up a child because a dog goes missing."

"Quite so." Mycroft agreed, but his tone made them pause and realize there was more to his story.

Sure enough, Mycroft explained dejectedly: "It was what happened… immediately afterwards."

And Marie shivered.

There was a new expression in Mycroft's eyes that she had never seen before – a look that terrified her more than anything in the world ever could. It was a look of utmost haunted fear, a look that spoke of nightmares one could only imagine.

A look she recognized too well from her own reflection back when she'd first met Jim Moriarty. And Marie realized that for Mycroft to look that way, Eurus Holmes was far worse than she had ever anticipated.

Mycroft raised his eyes to the trio as he elaborated grimly: "It was the last time we ever stayed in Musgrave…"

* * *

 _About thirty years ago_

A young girl with short brown hair pulled into twin pigtails sat, cross-legged, on the floor as she drew yet another crayon drawing. Around her were scattered several other drawings, all with one similar theme: they were all of Sherlock, and all depicted various forms of death – Sherlock crossed out of a family drawing; Sherlock spattered with red, apparently drowning in his own blood; Sherlock with a noose around his neck; and a grave marked: 'RIP SHERLOCK'.

Currently, young Eurus was finishing her drawing of a house with Sherlock sitting unhappily at one of the windows, which she was busy crossing out with a large, blue cross to complete her picture.

In the background, she could hear her parents arguing from the room next door as her father insisted: "She knows where he is!"

"We can't make her tell us." Her mother returned impatiently and anxiously. "We can't make her do _anything_."

Eurus placed down her crayon, her drawing finished, and she glanced up at the windows at the dark night outside her room while her hand reached across to pick up a small box sitting beside her leg. The little girl stared absently out at the darkening clouds in the distance, harbingers of a thunderstorm, as she shook the matchbox in her hand before she looked back down at the box.

Taking a match carefully from the box, Eurus lit it casually, examining the small flame intently… and watching as it grew bigger and bigger after she dropped it on her drawings.

* * *

 _Present day_

 _221B Baker Street_

There was a long moment of silence following Mycroft's story, the trio sitting in stunned silence while Mycroft sat with his eyes closed and an almost pained expression on his face. It was something they'd never really seen before, and it perturbed Sherlock more than anything else to see his brother – _his brother_ \- so clearly distraught over what had happened.

Finally Mycroft took a deep breath and finished flatly: "After that, our sister had to be taken away."

"Where?" John questioned, while Sherlock asked: "Sherrinford?"

Mycroft shot Marie another betrayed look – which she ignored – before nodding at Sherlock as he answered briefly: "Yes."

"How come your parents don't mention her?" John asked, puzzled, while Marie added slowly: "They don't even go visit her?"

Mycroft bowed his head, and Sherlock noted shrewdly: "You lied to them."

"Yes." Mycroft answered shortly but honestly as he looked back at his younger brother. "I told them she was taken to a suitable place, where she died after she started another fire, one which she did not survive."

"What?" John gaped, but Mycroft explained in a low voice: "It is a kindness; I told our parents this story to spare them further pain, and to account for the absence of an identifiable body."

"And no doubt to prevent their further interference." Sherlock shot back, a mirthless smile appearing on his otherwise cold face as he stared at his brother.

Marie's lips were folded tightly as Mycroft answered truthfully: "Well, that too, of course. The depth of Eurus' psychosis and the extent of her abilities couldn't hope to be contained in any ordinary institution. Uncle Rudi took care of things."

"And what _is_ Sherrinford?" Sherlock asked in a low voice, his gaze piercing his brother's.

"An island." Mycroft replied with a deep sigh. "It's a secure and very secretive installation whose sole purpose is to contain what we call 'the uncontainables'."

Marie, Sherlock, and John all straightened slightly, listening intently as Mycroft continued flatly: "The demons beneath the road; this is where we trap them. Sherrinford is more than a prison or an asylum; it is a fortress built to keep the rest of the world safe from what is inside it."

He paused before adding darkly: "Heaven may be a fantasy for the credulous and the afraid, but I can give you a map reference for Hell."

Sherlock looked at him sharply, while Mycroft took another deep breath before finishing brusquely: "That's where our sister has been since early childhood. She hasn't left – not for a single day."

Sherlock glanced up at Marie and then at John as the three exchanged looks, while Mycroft insisted resignedly: "Whoever you three met, it _can't_ have been her."

Of course, it was at that moment that there was the sound of breaking glass accompanied by a small thump akin to the sound of something hitting wood.

Marie and Sherlock's heads snapped over to the kitchen instantly, while John turned in his chair to also search for the source of the shattered glass.

All four of the room's occupants then instantly got to their feet as they saw the broken kitchen window, while a haunting, recorded female voice sang from somewhere beneath the kitchen table: "I that am lost, oh who will find me."

Mycroft's face filled with absolute horror while both Sherlock and Marie's eyes flickered over to glance at him. They then exchange quick looks before looking back to the kitchen as the voice continued to sing: "Deep down below, the old beech tree."

Marie's eyes widened as a small drone rose up from behind the kitchen table and started to hover towards them as Eurus's voice continued to sing through its small speakers: "Help succour me now, the East Wind's blowing. Sixteen by six, brother, and under we go."

Sherlock took a step forward, staring at the drone as he tried to make it out more clearly. Marie grabbed his arm instantly, pulling him back as she backed across the living room while Mycroft warned urgently: "Keep back! Keep as still as you can!"

"What is it?" John asked, as Eurus's voice continued to sing: "My soul seeks, the shade of my willow's bloom."

"It's a drone." Sherlock replied as the drone flew into the living room, and John retorted as he, too, slowly backed away from the drone: "Yeah, I can see that."

Marie backed up to the fireplace, reaching up swiftly and grabbing the gun she'd hidden behind the mantle, while Sherlock pressed close to her and John backed to the other sitting room window as Mycroft backed away to the corner by the flat door.

They kept their eyes fixed on the drone, and both Sherlock and John frowned as they saw a silver, grenade-shaped object sitting atop the drone.

"What's it carrying?" John asked slowly, and Sherlock murmured softly: "Marie, what's that silver thing on top of it?"

"It's a DX-707." Marie replied quietly as the drone hovered in the middle of the sitting room, and Mycroft added grimly: "I've authorised the purchase of quite a number of these."

The drone began to lower itself towards the ground as Mycroft continued: "Colloquially it is known as 'the patience grenade'."

The drone landed at last, and Marie tensed as its rotors shut down while John repeated questioningly: "'Patience'?"

A small red light popped up from the top of the grenade as the drone fixed itself to the floor, accompanied by a rhythmic beeping noise.

Marie's shoulders were drawn tight as she stared at the grenade tightly while Mycroft murmured softly: "The motion sensor has activated. If any of us move, the grenade will detonate."

"How powerful?" Sherlock asked, barely moving his lips, and Mycroft answered in a low voice: "It will certainly destroy this flat and kill anyone in it. Assuming walls of reasonable strength, your neighbours should be safe, but as it's landed on the floor, I am moved to wonder if the café below is open."

"It's Sunday morning; it's closed." Marie answered shortly, but John chimed in worriedly: "What about Mrs. Hudson?"

They all went quiet for a beat, allowing them to hear the faint sound of a vacuum cleaner coming from downstairs.

Marie thinned her lips thoughtfully, while Sherlock murmured: "Going by her usual routine, I estimate she has another two minutes left."

"She keeps the vacuum cleaner at the back of the flat." John added, and Mycroft asked with a slightly raised brow: "So?"

"So, safer there, when she's putting it away?" John answered with a slightly raised brow of his own, while Marie agreed firmly: "She'll be safest then."

Mycroft gave them looks, to which John replied pointedly: "Look, we have to move eventually - we should do it when she's safest."

"When the vacuum stops, we give her eight seconds to get to the back of the flat." Sherlock ordered. "She's fast when she's cleaning. Then we move."

He glanced at Marie and Mycroft as he asked: "What's the trigger response time?"

Mycroft gave him a blank look, not understanding the question, but Marie answered immediately: "Once we're moving, we'll have a maximum of three seconds to get out of the blast radius, before that thing detonates."

John closed his eyes, grimacing slightly at the low odds against them.

Sherlock however, replied swiftly: "You, John and I will take the windows; Mycroft, you take the stairs. Help get Mrs. Hudson out too."

"Me?" Mycroft asked, furrowing his brows in confusion, and Marie explained: "You're closer."

"Sherlock's faster; and so are you, if you think about it." Mycroft countered, but Sherlock pointed out: "Speed differential won't be as critical as the distance."

Mycroft raised his brows, reluctantly acknowledging their point. "Yes, agreed."

They listened for another beat, and as the hum vacuum cleaner started to become fainter, John noted: "She's further away. She's moving to the back."

"I estimate we have a minute left." Sherlock muttered, before asking abruptly. "Is a phone call possible?"

"Phone call?" Mycroft repeated incredulously while Marie cringed, and Sherlock looked at his brother as he reminded: "We have children; and John may wish, as I do, to say goodbye."

Sherlock's voice was tight while Marie's face was drawn with pain. Mycroft, belatedly realizing the sensitivity of Sherlock's question, answered with actual sincerity: "I'm sorry, Sherlock; Dr. Watson. Marie."

He acknowledged his sister-in-law with a slight eye movement, while he explained apologetically: "Any movement will set off the grenade. I hope you understand."

He directed the end of his sentence to John, and Sherlock thinned his lips while John's shoulders were bunched tightly with tension and Marie whispered: "At least they're safe away from here."

Sherlock swallowed, as a moment's silence fell, before John said abruptly: "Oscar Wilde."

The other three almost turned their heads to look at him in confusion; instead, Sherlock and Marie made do with shooting him questioning looks while Mycroft asked blankly: "What?"

" _He_ said, 'The truth is rarely pure, and never simple'." John explained in a low voice. "It's from, 'The Importance of Being Earnest'."

Sherlock's lips twitched, pulling up on one corner into a lopsided grin while Marie murmured: "I never read it."

"Heh, what do you know." John joked softly. "I finally know something you don't, Marie. Though I can't take all the credit – we did it in school."

Marie's lips quirked into a smile as well, while Mycroft mused softly: "So did we; now I recall. I was Lady Bracknell."

John also smiled slightly, while Sherlock murmured: "Yeah. You were great."

"You really think so?" Mycroft asked, looking at his brother, who looked back at him as he answered sincerely: "Yes, I really do."

"Well, that's good to know." Mycroft replied as he smiled back briefly. "I've always wondered."

Sherlock and Mycroft stared at each other while John and Marie exchanged encouraging looks.

The vacuum cleaner shut down at that moment, and the tension in the flat returned as they all mentally counted. They'd reached the count of three when Sherlock murmured: "Good luck, boys."

He paused for another second as they all tensed in anticipation, and then Sherlock counted down aloud: "Three, two, one, go!"

Instantly, Mycroft turned for the flat door, heading towards the stairs, while John turned and ran for the corner window closest to him. Sherlock meanwhile wrapped an arm around Marie's waist at the same time she wrapped her arm around his while she fired at their window, shattering it just as the grenade exploded behind them.

The three friends jumped, leaping for the windows, and using the force of the grenade blast to aid in launching through the windows. Sherlock covered Marie as they crashed through the windows, shielding her as best as he could from the broken glass and the flames that licked the entire flat behind them as they all fell down towards the street below.


	27. Sherrinford

Marie jumped down from the helicopter, the last to jump, and landed beside Sherlock just as John slipped slightly on the wet motorboat wheelhouse roof.

He righted himself with a grunt, only for Marie to pull him down with her behind the roof antennae while Sherlock held himself upright on the roof just as the wheelhouse door opened and two sailors stepped out in yellow raincoats.

The sailors peered through the fog and rain, mixed with the sea spray, blinking in confusion up at Sherlock as he stood dramatically on the wheelhouse roof.

"Who the 'ell are you?" One of the sailors demanded incredulously, staring at Sherlock, and Sherlock answered quite calmly: "My name's Sherlock Holmes."

"The detective?" The other sailor asked, puzzled, and Sherlock smirked.

"The pirate." He answered, before John and Marie stepped out into view at last, both pointing their guns at the sailors.

The sailors quickly raised their hands in surrender as fear and shock played across their faces, and Marie rolled her eyes as Sherlock jumped dramatically off the roof towards the two men.

' _He's such a child, sometimes._ ' She thought fondly, watching as Sherlock finally got to play the pirate he had wanted to be as a child.

* * *

Sherrinford Island was a mass of activity, all troops mobilized for secure lockdown after an unauthorized motorboat had 'crashed' into the rocks near the island; 'crashed' meaning purposefully driven onto the island.

And the Prison Governor had no doubt as to who was behind this lockdown. Not that it was all too difficult – after all, the perpetrator had left the two original owners of the motorboat tied up on the island beach, along with a message written in the sand: 'TELL MY SISTER I'M HERE'.

So it was as he ground his teeth in frustration that the Governor waited impatiently for his cellphone to connect as he strode through the Sherrinford facility while alarms blared overhead as all non-emergency personnel were evacuated while guards lined every corridor inside the prison.

"I need to speak to Mycroft." The Governor demanded the instant the person on the other side of the call answered their phone.

"He's in hospital." Sir Edwin replied, his voice sounding confused at the urgency in the Prison Governor's. "There was an explosion."

"Put me through to the hospital." The Governor retorted impatiently, but Sir Edwin shot back firmly, worry seeping into his voice: "He's not conscious. He's _severely_ injured. No-one is even confident he's going to pull through."

"Where's his brother?" The Governor checked as he walked into the surveillance office. "Where's Sherlock Holmes?"

"Missing." Sir Edwin replied curtly through clenched teeth, but the Governor corrected sharply: "No, he's not; he's _here_."

The Governor hung up, tucking away his mobile into the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket as he walked over to his technicians, just as one called: "Sir, we found three more from the boat."

He pointed to the security screen, which showed John Watson, Marie Spencer Holmes, and a tall, elderly-looking gentleman dressed in yellow, fisherman's overalls, with bushy white hair covered in a woolly hat and a thick beard covering most of his face. They had their hands raised in surrender against the many guards pointing their guns at the pair, one of whom was also the one filming the situation for the Governor to see.

The Governor raised a brow as the elderly-looking fisherman said in an aggravated Southwest England accent: "He stole our boat! Him an' another fella, with guns!"

"Where'd you find them?" The Governor demanded, and the guard filming the footage answered in an Irish accent: "North side of the island, sir."

The Governor smiled slightly as he stared at the footage before he ordered: "Holding cell, _now_."

"Right, sir." The guard answered, and John and the fisherman were instantly ushered away while the Governor turned away from the screens.

* * *

 _Moments later_

The Governor walked briskly into the holding cell, where John, Marie, and his 'elderly fisherman' friend were already seated at a plain wooden table beside a two-way mirror, while one, armed guard with a beanie pulled down passed his eyes (as all the guards typically dressed) stood by the cell door.

The instant, the Governor walked in, the man dressed in fisherman garb ranted in his thick accent: "This is a mistake. I'm the victim 'ere."

Standing, he jabbed a finger down to point at John as he continued in aggravation: "These two stole my boat. They're pirates!"

"Yeah, we really are." John agreed, straight-faced, and Marie nodded, but the Governor wasn't buying it.

Looking to the standing male, the Governor requested politely but firmly: "Please, sit down."

"I-I don't even know who they are!" The 'fisherman' complained, though he did as he was told and sat back down in his chair beside Marie.

John pulled a strange face while Marie's eyebrow twitched, before the pair looked back up as the Governor stated flatly: "He's Dr. John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, and she is Rose-Marie Spencer Holmes."

The Governor looked down at the pair as he added pointedly: "What are you two doing here?"

"It's a hospital." John replied calmly, looking up at the Governor. "I'm a doctor, Marie's a chemist - any work?"

"It's not a hospital." The Governor replied sternly, before moving his eyes to Marie. "As I'm sure you were well aware."

Marie just smiled enigmatically back at him, her lips just curling enough to appear friendly while keeping her teeth hidden.

Keeping his eyes fixed on the pair before him, the Governor shifted slightly to hold out his facility pass towards the guard behind him as he ordered: "I want eyes on Eurus Holmes. Go straight to the Special Unit, deploy Green and Yellow Shift on my authority."

The guard took the pass immediately, answering with a swift: "Sir."

The guard left the cell, while the Governor raised a brow before settling into the chair across from his three unwelcome visitors as he explained: "I'm sparing your blushes because we're supposed to be on the same side; and frankly, this is embarrassing."

The 'fisherman' remained looking down at the table with a frown while John stared right back at the Governor as he questioned casually: "Ooh, doing a cavity search?"

The Governor smirked before he stated: "The true art of disguise, according to your famous friend, is not being looked at."

His head turned to the 'fisherman' as he added pointedly: "But I _am_ looking at you, aren't I, Mr. Holmes?"

The 'fisherman' lifted his head, eyeing the Governor as he answered flatly: "Yes, you are."

The Governor smiled triumphantly as he went on: "For someone who is famous for his intellect, you disappoint me, Mr. Holmes – you even sat down beside your wife."

"Well, not quite." Marie mused, and the Governor raised a brow at her as she met his gaze squarely. "But, I suppose that is the whole point of this façade, isn't it?"

She turned to look at the man beside her, raising her brow, and the Governor frowned while the 'fisherman' stood up once more and John turned to the Governor.

"See," John explained, "you _should_ have been looking at the guy you just gave your pass to."

The Governor's eyes widened as the 'fisherman' took off his beanie with one hand, pulling off his white hair with it, while he removed the false nose and upper half of his beard with his other hand with a slight wince.

And the Governor gawked as Mycroft Holmes let his disguise drop on the table with a small, relieved sigh, before the man grinned down at the Governor as the latter could only gape at him in utter shock.

Marie meanwhile leant back in her chair, the smirk she had been suppressing the whole time now gracing her face, while elsewhere in the facility, Sherlock Holmes took the Governor's pass to get into a secured elevator leading deeper inside Sherrinford.

* * *

 _Several minutes later_

"That's the trouble with uniforms and name badges." Mycroft sniffed disdainfully as he smoothed his hair, examining his once-more impeccable appearance in the two-way mirror.

"People stop looking at faces. You'd be better off with clown outfits." He turned back to face the Governor, giving the man a false smile. At least they'd be satirically relevant."

The Governor just stood with his head bowed, his arms behind his back in respect and defeat, while John added: "Oh, you'll find the real Landers on the north shore," the Governor nodded with a sigh, "tied up with two others."

" _Two_ others?" The Governor repeated incredulously, looking at John in shock, and John mused: "Mm. Well, it was trial and error. We had to," he gestured to his midsection, "find the right waistband."

He nodded at Mycroft where the man was just smoothing his waistcoat, and the Governor looked between the two men before he spat: "This is insane! This is unnecessary!"

"No;" John corrected, "your security is compromised and we don't know who to trust."

"And that justifies dressing up?" The Governor shot back, but Mycroft answered loudly and sharply: "Yes it does!"

The Governor flinched slightly as Mycroft turned to him once more, his face cold and filled with fury as he snapped sharply: "It justifies dressing up or any damned thing I say it does. Now, listen to me: for your own physical safety, do not speak, do not indulge in any non-verbal signals suggestive of internal thought."

John raised a brow as Mycroft fired off angrily: "If the safety of my sister is compromised; if the _security_ of my sister is compromised; if the incarceration of my sister is compromised – in short, if I find any indication my sister has left this island at any time, I swear to you, you will _not_."

Mycroft glared at the man as the Governor stood, ramrod straight and unmoving - as he'd been ordered. After another beat, Mycroft added in a much calmer voice: "Say thank you to Dr. Watson."

"Why?" The Governor asked, puzzled, and Mycroft explained flatly: "He talked me out of Lady Bracknell. This could have been very different."

The Governor blinked once, while Mycroft turned away and asked into his earpiece: "Marie, status report."

* * *

 _Outside the facility_

"All's quiet outside." Marie replied as she scoured through the exterior of the island facility, keeping her eyes on both the building and the forested areas around it. "It seems all the guards are focusing their attentions on the beaches, looking for more 'intruders'."

"Good. Keep your eyes on them and report back instantly if you see anything worth noting." Mycroft ordered.

"You know I'm not actually employed by you any more?" Marie half-teased, and Mycroft replied dryly: "Yes; after all, you never cease to remind me."

Marie's lips twitched into a smile, but before she could answer, Mycroft was saying into his earpiece again: "Sherlock, are you in?"

* * *

 _Inside a lift inside the facility_

"Just arriving at the Secure Unit." Sherlock answered. "Explain."

He turned as the elevator arrived, and he stepped out as the doors slid open while Mycroft explained over the earpiece: "A prison within a prison. Eurus must be allowed the strict minimum of human interaction."

"Why?" Sherlock asked softly as he walked down the passage, swaying from side to side to hide his normal gait, and Mycroft answered flatly: "Since you're determined to meet her, you're about to find out."

"She's dangerously compelling." Marie interjected, clearly impatient with Mycroft's enigmatic answers. "So Sherlock – _be careful._ "

Sherlock didn't have time to answer, having reached the end of the passageway where two guards stood at attention before the Special Unit. In the distance, the sound of violin music could be heard; it sounded as though it were coming through a speaker, if the tinny quality was anything to go by.

"Eyes on Eurus Holmes." Sherlock informed the guards in his false Irish accent as he removed his rifle and handed it over to one of the guards. "Governor's orders."

* * *

 _Inside the holding cell_

"Answer yes or no." Mycroft ordered as he paced before the Governor. "Has there ever been – against my _express_ instructions – any attempt at a psychiatric evaluation of Eurus Holmes?"

"Yes." The Governor answered quietly but firmly.

"I presume the tapes are in my office?" Mycroft noted rather than asked, turning towards the holding cell door.

 _"Your_ office?" The Governor repeated in confusion, and Mycroft replied over his shoulder as he walked out, John following him: "Cast your mind back. It _used_ to be yours."

* * *

 _Outside_

Marie watched as the guards milled around on the beaches, clearly having been ordered to maintain the perimeter but not thinking it was necessary. She had to agree – after all, there shouldn't be any other unexpected arrivals coming. At least not today – Mycroft and Sir Edwin would make sure of that.

Marie sighed quietly as she checked around the facility once more. Everything was going smoothly, as to be expected of a plan hatched by the two Holmes brothers and some input from her and John.

But Marie couldn't help the small twisting of her gut as she looked around.

It was _too_ quiet.

Not that there was anything wrong with quiet… usually. But this felt like the calm before a storm, and Marie had long learnt to follow her gut instinct even if her eyes didn't consciously pick up on anything.

Something wasn't right here, she was sure of it. The question was: what?

* * *

 _Inside the Special Unit_

Sherlock stepped onto the marked area on the ground before the elevator door that would go up to Eurus's cell. The lights above his head began to flicker before oscillating back and forth as they scanned him.

The violin music continued faintly beside him, coming from a computer where one of the guards was monitoring the screens. One of the other guards standing by the doors piped up as he glanced at Sherlock: "You 'aven't been down 'ere before, 'ave you? 'Silence of the Lambs,' basically."

"You what?" Sherlock inquired, still using an Irish accent, and the guard explained warningly: "Keep your distance; stay at least three feet away from the glass an' all that."

The lights above Sherlock's head switched to green, indicating he was clear, before they returned to the normal white. Sherlock glanced up at the lights and then across at the guard sitting before the computer screens, noting the man was wearing earphones wrapped around the back of his head.

"Why the headphones?" Sherlock asked as he started towards the elevator, feigning casual curiosity, and the guard answered bluntly: "She doesn't stop playin', sometimes for weeks."

Sherlock could just see Eurus on one of the computer screens, playing the violin casually yet beautifully despite all the security cameras watching her.

"Beautiful." Sherlock noted, meaning the music, and the guard replied flatly: "Kills you in the end."

"Aye." Sherlock agreed lightly. "Still beautiful, though."

Before getting into the elevator. As soon as the doors shut, Sherlock straightened up from his slouched demeanour, discarding the guard's thick coat and beanie on the floor before smoothing out his regular suit, hidden under the guard's garb.

By the time the elevator arrived at Eurus's cell, Sherlock was standing upright and looking like his regular self, down to his black suit with white button down and messy curls. Sherlock swallowed as the doors revealed Eurus, standing in her glass cell while playing her violin with her back to Sherlock.

The entire cell that made up the far side of the room was surrounded by thick glass, with the words 'Maintain Distance of Tree Feet' marked in white letters on each of the glass panels. The cell itself was bare, except for a single bed and a table with one chair, and what appeared to be a

She was still playing the eerily beautiful piece he'd heard upstairs, and Sherlock examined her slowly as he stepped forward.

The woman standing in the cell before him was unlike the woman he'd met, posing as Faith Smith, nor like the therapist he, John, and Marie had met. This woman had long, curly dark hair not unlike his own and his brother's when Mycroft had had longer hair. She was dressed plainly in a white shirt and slacks that were loose on her frame, but not enough to hinder movement, and completed with comfortable-looking white flats. Along with her pale complexion, she looked almost like a ghost.

It was as Sherlock took his third step that the lights in the cell and the area around it lit up, indicating his presence… and Eurus paused in her playing.

There was a beat of silence as Eurus Holmes stood stock still while Sherlock watched her, before Eurus resumed her playing, slower at first but soon she was playing as grandly as she had been before Sherlock's arrival; but the musical piece had changed.

Sherlock pressed his lips tightly together as Eurus played the familiar tune to her strange song, the song that had apparently haunted Sherlock's childhood.

Sherlock winced slightly as the tune brought back a faint childhood memory of running through the shallow waves of the ocean, while Redbeard played nearby, the dog shaking its wet fur slightly as it trotted about.

Sherlock blinked the vision away, refocusing himself in the present, and his left hand curled slightly into a fist, feeling the smooth silver of his wedding band in an effort to calm himself while Eurus continued to play, as though oblivious to him and yet very distinctly for him.

Sherlock watched his sister play for a while longer before he took another slow step forward.

The instant his footstep sounded, Eurus's playing suddenly sped up, becoming almost frantic as she played a rapid string of notes one after the other. Sherlock quickly stepped back to his original position, his own expression unchanged as he was somewhat unsurprised by the development while Eurus returned to her original playing.

*A/N I know! Two updates? But, it's summer and I figure we all deserve a break!


	28. Eurus

_In the Governor's office_

"Why am I here?" Eurus Holmes asked on the screen, which was currently showing footage of one of her attempted psychiatric sessions.

The screen showed four different angled security shots of Eurus as she sat cross-legged before the glass of her prison, her head slightly bowed and her expression empty of any emotions while she seemingly examined the blank ground before her.

"Why do you think you're here?" A male voice questioned faintly, the speaker off-screen, and Eurus answered flatly: "No-one ever tells me."

John frowned from his spot behind Mycroft, where the eldest Holmes sibling was seated at the Governor's desk. The Governor himself stood on the other side, his hands tucked grimly into his pockets as they all stared at the projection panel on the wall, where Eurus asked onscreen: "Am I being punished?"

"You've been bad." The man answered shortly, but Eurus answered in an almost sing-song voice: "There's no such thing as 'bad'."

"What about good?" The man questioned, but Eurus answered without missing a beat and without any inflection in her voice: "Good and bad are fairytales."

She cocked an eyebrow though she kept her eyes on the ground as she continued flatly: "We have evolved to attach an emotional significance to what is nothing more than the survival strategy of the pack animal."

John frowned slightly, noting that her cold and rapid speech sounded eerily similar to Sherlock's when he was firing off what he considered to be an unimportant or uninteresting deduction – or simply trying to annoy Anderson.

"We are conditioned to invest divinity in utility. Good isn't really good, evil isn't really wrong, and bottoms aren't really pretty. You are a prisoner of your own meat."

"Why aren't you?" The man countered, and Eurus finally lifted her head.

Staring right at the camera, she answered slowly and distinctly: "I'm too clever."

* * *

 _Outside the facility_

Marie glanced around again with a frown.

Something… something wasn't right. She could just feel it. Maybe she should have argued to go with John and Mycroft...

Marie glanced to the side absently, before she focused more sharply and her frown deepened at what she was seeing.

"What…?" She muttered, eyes narrowing.

* * *

 _Inside Eurus's cell room_

Eurus finally finished playing her piece, slowly lowering her bow. Still not turning around, she asked – her voice carrying through to the speakers set up outside the sealed glass cell: "Did you bring it?"

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock asked with a puzzled frown, and Eurus answered impatiently and sharply: "My hairband. Did you bring it like I asked?"

"I'm," Sherlock answered hesitantly, still confused, "not one of the... I-I don't work here."

"My special hairband." Eurus stressed, and Sherlock answered firmly: "I'm _not_ one of your doctors."

"The one I made you steal, from Mummy."

Sherlock paused, tensing slightly at Eurus's words while the woman turned to face him at last.

Pale eyes met pale blue as Eurus said intently: "It was the last thing I said to you, remember? The day they took me away."

"No." Sherlock replied, shaking his head slightly, and Eurus repeated with a slightly raised brow: "No?"

"No, we've spoken since then." Sherlock reminded in a quiet but firm voice. "You came round to my flat a few weeks back; you pretended to be a woman called Faith Smith. We had chips."

"Does this mean you _didn't_ bring my hairband?" Eurus demanded, looking slightly put out, but Sherlock asked instead as he stared at Eurus intently: "How did you manage to get out of this place? How did you do that?"

"Easy." Eurus answered as she stared right back at her brother. "Look at me."

"I _am_ looking at you." Sherlock pointed out, and Eurus realized: "You can't see it, can you? You try and try but you just can't see; you can't look."

"See what?" Sherlock demanded.

Eurus suddenly held out her violin towards him, asking abruptly: "What do you think?"

"Beautiful." Sherlock answered immediately, and Eurus scolded sharply: "You're not looking at it."

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly before looking back at Eurus as he corrected: "I meant your playing."

"Oh, the music." Eurus mused, sounding part dismissive and part thoughtful as she lowered her violin once more so she could examine it. "I never know if it's beautiful or not; only if it's right."

"Often they're the same thing." Sherlock pointed out, but Eurus countered as she looked back up at him: "If they're not always the same thing, what's the point in beauty?"

She abruptly lifted the violin towards Sherlock once more as she added suddenly: "Look at the violin."

"I need to know how you escaped." Sherlock insisted, ignoring her as he looked at her, but Eurus was even firmer as she repeated: " _Look_ at the violin."

Sherlock finally did as she ordered, shifting his eyes onto the instrument and he noted after a quick examination: "It's a Stradivarius."

"It's a gift." Eurus added, and Sherlock questioned with a puzzled frown: "Who from?"

"Me." Eurus answered.

She then turned, walking to her right where there was a metal hatch set into the edge of her glass cell. Placing her violin and bow inside, she stepped back as the hatch revolved around so that the opening now faced Sherlock.

Eurus walked back to the centre of her cell while Sherlock – immediately knowing what Eurus wanted – walked over to the hatch, removing the violin and bow from it before he too returned to the middle of the room.

Glancing down at the instrument now in his hands, Sherlock questioned: "Why?"

"You play, don't you?" Eurus answered with her back half turned to him, knowing what he was asking without needing him to even formulate his question fully.

Sherlock looked up at her in no small amount of surprise, and he asked quietly but intently: "How did you know?"

That finally caught Eurus's interest, and she turned back to him with the faintest hint of puzzlement about her as she repeated: "How did I know?"

Her pale blue eyes were narrowed as she stared at Sherlock intently while answering: "I _taught_ you, don't you remember? How can you not remember that?"

"Eurus," Sherlock answered softly as he stared back at his sister, "I don't remember you at all."

Eurus's eyes widened slightly and a small smile appeared on her face as she murmured: "Interesting. Mycroft told me you'd rewritten your memories; he didn't tell me you'd written me out completely."

"What do you mean, 'rewritten'?" Sherlock interrupted sharply, staring at her intently, and Eurus returned the look as she examined him for a moment.

"You still don't know about Redbeard, do you?" She asked suddenly, and Sherlock barely twitched a finger.

She caught the slight movement however – not that she really needed the confirmation – and she breathed almost happily as she stared at Sherlock: "Oh. This is going to be such a good day."

* * *

 _In the Governor's office_

John stared at the screen, frowning slightly as Eurus said right at the camera: "She smiles at you when you come home. Like a reflex."

Meanwhile, behind John, Mycroft sat slumped tiredly in the Governor's chair, while the Governor explained: "Everyone we sent in there; it-it's hard to describe."

John glanced over as the Governor struggled to place his thoughts into words. _"_ It's... it's like she..."

"Recruited them." Mycroft supplied, sitting with his arms folded, and the Governor corrected grimly: "Enslaved them."

"She's been capable of that since she was five." Mycroft snapped, placing his hands on his hip while John turned back to the screen.

Mycroft meanwhile kept his eyes fixed disapprovingly on the Governor as he added in a low voice: "She's an adult now. I warned you; I _ordered_ you."

The Governor sighed, before he tried with a small smile: "She's clinically unique. We had to try."

John glanced at him again before looking back at the screen while Mycroft demanded of the Governor: "At what cost?"

"Happiness is a pop song." Eurus was saying onscreen, her face still as flat and expressionless as her voice. But her eyes as they stared at the camera… "Sadness is a poem."

Mycroft was looking at the screen as well, and he murmured again, almost to himself: "What cost?"

He then turned back to the Governor as he ordered: "Tell me the worst thing that has happened."

The Governor paused, before he finally stated: "She kept suggesting to Dr. Taylor that he should kill his family."

"And?" Mycroft asked pointedly, and the Governor explained: "He said it was like an earworm; couldn't get her out of his head."

John turned to look at the Governor again, a deep frown on his face while Mycroft repeated: "And?"

"He left." The Governor answered shortly, but Mycroft prompted sternly: "And?"

"Killed himself." The Governor continued, but didn't say more.

"And?" Mycroft repeated, staring the Governor down, and the man finally finished: "…His family."

Mycroft pursed his lips while John turned back to the screen where Eurus was asking as she stared at the camera: "Are you going to cry? It's okay if you cry."

"I don't need to cry." The male voice answered, but Eurus replied firmly: "I can _help_ you cry."

* * *

 _Outside the facility_

Marie frowned as she watched the guards, who had suddenly gathered into small groups along the beach. Their formation indicated a casual assembly but the timing didn't – they all moved at the same time.

Ice seemed to slowly spread down Marie's spine as she just knew in her gut: something was _very_ wrong here.

* * *

 _Inside Eurus's cell room_

"Play for me." Eurus ordered, and Sherlock countered: "I need to know how you got out of here."

"You _know_ already." Eurus retorted, closing her eyes briefly in exasperation before looking back at Sherlock. "Look at me. Look and _play_."

Sherlock pursed his lips but finally did as she said. Keeping his eyes fixed on Eurus, Sherlock lifted the violin and played the opening chords to Bach's Sonata No. 1 in G minor, one of his go-to pieces for thinking… or showing off.

But he made it only as far as the opening chord when Eurus interrupted irritably: "No, not Bach; you clearly don't understand it. Play you."

"Me?" Sherlock repeated, watching Eurus like a hawk.

She stared right back at him as she challenged: " _You_."

Sherlock paused for a moment, his eyes dropping down to look at his violin for a moment, before he lifted the bow once more and began to play again, this time a different tune. It was much simpler than Bach's, and yet it had much more emotion in it when he played it.

Eurus's brow shot up in surprise as she listened to Sherlock playing a variation of the melody that had started as a regretful tune and eventually adjusted into a proposal; the music he had written for a mysterious rose; the song of his wife.

"Oh!" Eurus mused as she listened to his playing carefully. "Have you had sex?"

"Why do you ask?" Sherlock returned, not stopping in his playing.

"The music." She explained, her brow arching almost coyly at him.

"I have children – of course I've had sex." Sherlock answered curtly, keeping his eyes on Eurus even as he continued to play.

"I'd heard you were a virgin." She countered.

"Knowing you though, was it with your 'wife'?" Eurus asked though it sounded more like taunting. She also made clear air quotes around the word she had uttered with a strange mix of disdain and perverse longing. "Your first time, I mean? No."

Eurus answered her own question before Sherlock could even open his mouth as she said, a clear mocking note in her voice: "I should say, _all_ your 'times' were with her, shouldn't I? You're quite loyal that way."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed just slightly, but otherwise showed no other outward sign of emotion; but Eurus still smirked at him knowingly.

"Oh, it was." She grinned widely. "So predictably you. _I've_ had sex." She tacked on rather randomly, and Sherlock frowned just slightly.

"How?" He asked, still playing, and Eurus explained in rapid-fire speech: "One of the nurses got careless. I liked it; messy, though. People are so breakable."

"I take it he didn't consent." Sherlock commented a little dryly.

"'He'?" Eurus repeated with a slight frown, and Sherlock corrected swiftly: "She?"

Eurus almost shrugged as she answered nonchalantly, turning her head slightly to look thoughtfully into space: "Afraid I didn't notice in the heat of the moment and afterwards... well, you couldn't really tell."

She paused, before her lips curled into another smirk as she asked: "Is that vibrato, or is your hand shaking?"

Eurus turned her pale, cold eyes back on Sherlock, who slightly and purposefully emphasized the vibrato on the last, long note of his piece.

Sherlock then stopped playing, lowering the violin as he stared at Eurus. His face carefully hid his disconcertment, affected by Eurus's careless comments on the woman she'd broken. It was a little too close for comfort for Sherlock, given Marie's past with Moriarty, but from Eurus's expression he could see she saw how much her words had hit home despite his attempts not to show any reaction.

Her lips curved up into another of those cruel, cold smiles as Eurus stared back at him with the first signs of genuine glee flickering deep inside those pale blue eyes.

* * *

 _Outside the facility_

"Sherlock." Marie murmured as she watched the guards start to casually disperse.

"Not now." He answered, sounding distracted, and Marie called instead: "John?"

"Yeah?" Was his quiet reply, and she said worriedly: "I think something's wrong."

* * *

 _Inside the Governor's office_

Mycroft and the Governor were arguing, the pair on opposite sides of the desk while John watched them with his arms crossed, from his place behind Mycroft.

"I warned you explicitly; _no-one_ was to talk to her alone." Mycroft said angrily as he stood glaring down at the Governor where he was seated across the desk, and the Governor retorted: " _You_ spoke to her."

"I know what I'm doing!" Mycroft snapped, but the Governor added accusingly: "You even brought her a visitor on Christmas Day."

John frowned, glancing at Mycroft, who replied through grit teeth: "I took a calculated risk."

"You gave her a Christmas present." The Governor continued doggedly, staring right at Mycroft. "Remember her Christmas present?"

"I am aware of the dangers Eurus poses, and equipped to deal with them." Mycroft countered, saying each word distinctly as he kept his anger and frustration in check.

" _What_ dangers?" John interjected, and Mycroft turned to him as he explained heavily: "Eurus doesn't just talk to people. She... reprograms them."

John turned back to the screen, staring intently at the security footage once more while Mycroft went on: "Anyone who spends time with her is automatically compromised."

It was at that moment that Marie called through their earpieces: "John?"

"Yeah?" John asked quietly, his eyes fixed on the screen as his brows furrowed together, before his gut dropped as Marie informed him quietly: "I think something's wrong."

It was all the confirmation John needed for his own hunch, and he replied to Marie briefly: "So do I."

Onscreen, Eurus was saying: "I'm only trying to help you. We can help each other. Helping someone… is the best way you can help yourself."

"I don't trust you." The man off-screen replied, his voice faint in the recording but still distinctly familiar.

* * *

 _In Eurus's cell room_

"So clearly you remember _me_." Sherlock commented after rejecting Marie's call, staring at Eurus.

Eurus answered as she started to slowly walk forwards and closer to Sherlock: "I remember everything; every single thing. You just need a big enough hard drive."

"Sherlock." This time it was John calling him through the earpiece, and Sherlock muttered very quietly: "Not now."

"Vatican Cameos." John informed him quietly but urgently, but Sherlock hissed back impatiently: "In a minute."

Sherlock removed the earpiece, wanting – no, _needing_ – to solve this case.

* * *

In the Governor's office, John removed his finger from his own earpiece, closing his eyes and licking his lips worriedly.

* * *

Outside the facility, Marie turned her head away from the guards as her own hand dropped from where she'd had her finger on her earpiece. Without a second look back, she moved swiftly back around the building, heading back inside and towards her endangered friends.

*A/N Did I surprise anyone with the song Sherlock chose to play? I hinted at it ages ago, in the first book in fact, but never really felt compelled to explain it further and I'm kinda glad I left it out until now. Didn't quite expect it to come back the way it has, but I'm more satisfied with it the way it is. For those who don't remember, Sherlock composed sad songs after Christmas, which everyone assumed to be to mourn Irene Adler. While one is most certainly Adler's theme (I cannot leave it out, it's a beautiful piece!), the other that I left unattended to was Marie's. If you're interested, I imagine it to sound like blacksheeop08's ' **Sound of an Angel'** , which you can find on youtube. The violin bit starts at 30 seconds, and the piece is one of my favourites. And that, readers, is the longest author's note I shall ever write! Thanks as always for reading and reviewing!


	29. Compromised

Inside her cell, Eurus smiled at Sherlock as he pocketed his earpiece, before she said calmly: "Let's continue."

Eurus stopped a few steps from the edge of her glass prison, asking Sherlock: "Did they tell you to keep three feet from the glass? "

"Yes." Sherlock answered, not even looking at the stenciled warning reminders on each glass panel around Eurus's cell. He didn't need to be reminded, so he did not need to do something so trivial – instead, he kept his eyes on Eurus.

"Be naughty. Step closer." She ordered, and Sherlock raised his brows as he asked pointedly: "Why?"

"Do it. Step closer." She insisted, and Sherlock paused as he examined her.

Instead of complying, however, Sherlock asked abruptly: "Tell me what you remember."

"You, me, and Mycroft." Eurus answered flatly. She sighed slightly before adding: "Mycroft was quite clever. He could understand things if you went a bit slow but you... you were my favourite."

Sherlock took a small step forward, before bringing his feet together once more as he prodded: " _Why_ was I your favourite?"

Eurus mirrored his actions, taking one step forward, closer to the edge of her prison as she answered almost breathily: "'Cause I could make you laugh. I _loved_ it when you laughed. Once I made you laugh all night. I thought you were going to _burst_."

Sherlock smiled tightly, though his eyes were still fixed on Eurus suspiciously as she murmured: "I was so happy."

Sherlock took another small step forward, while Eurus continued: "Then Mummy and Daddy had to stop me, of course."

"Why?" Sherlock asked, and Eurus answered as she also took a step forward: "Well, turns out I got it wrong. Apparently, you were screaming."

She looked confused, thoughtful, but Sherlock took it in stride as he questioned without emotion: "Why was I screaming?"

But his mind answered for him, and Sherlock stiffened as he heard a dog whining faintly in the back of his mind.

"Redbeard." He realized, and Eurus tilted her head as Sherlock lowered his gaze slightly.

Desperately reigning in his emotions, Sherlock met her gaze again as he informed his sister: "I remember Redbeard."

"Do you, now?" Eurus challenged in a soft purr as she stepped even closer, and Sherlock mirrored the action as he demanded: "Tell me what I don't know."

The two siblings were very close now, almost face-to-face against the edge of Eurus's cell. Eurus's eyes were burning as she stared up at Sherlock while he looked down at her, meeting her gaze squarely though his hands twitched slightly, wanting to curl into fists against the wave of uneasy emotions inside him.

"Touch the glass." Eurus ordered suddenly, and Sherlock frowned at her.

* * *

 _Inside the Governor's office_

"I put my trust in you, my implicit trust." Mycroft was saying angrily to the Governor. "As governor of this institute!"

"It's obvious when it all started." The Governor retorted. "Well, she was never the same after that Christmas. It's as if you woke her up."

"That is entirely beside the point." Mycroft snapped. "You had your orders and failed to act on them!"

"Listen to the tape." John ordered abruptly, removing his hand from his earpiece once more.

"Sorry?" Mycroft asked, frowning as he glanced at John, who insisted: "Do it now. Listen."

Mycroft rolled his eyes as he began: "My sister's methods of-"

"Just listen." John hissed, and Mycroft paused, his frown deepening as he stared at John while onscreen Eurus said: "You have _no_ idea how I could help."

John was staring intently at the screen, so with a sigh Mycroft returned to the Governor's desk, picking up the remote and increasing the volume as Eurus continued to say: "Bring me your wife. I want to meet her."

"I don't need your help." The off-screen male replied flatly, his voice more distinct now that they could hear him as well.

* * *

 _In Eurus's cell room_

"Redbeard was my dog." Sherlock said slowly as he examined his sister intently. "I know what happened to Redbeard."

"Oh, Sherlock, you know nothing." Eurus answered as she stared up at Sherlock, who pursed his lips tightly. "Touch the glass, and I'll tell you the truth."

Sherlock frowned at her insistence that he touch the glass, and Eurus lifted her left hand as she offered: "I'll touch it too, if you're scared."

* * *

 _Somewhere inside the facility_

Marie sprinted without a sound down the hallways, keeping out of sight of the guards once again lining every corridor as she stuck to less crowded areas while silently taking down any guards she happened upon.

She was careful, not wanting to raise the alarm prematurely, but it slowed her down; and that was something she couldn't afford right now.

 _Two minutes earlier_

 _"Vatican Cameos." John said over their earpiece, only for Sherlock to dismiss him impatiently._

 _And almost as soon as Sherlock disconnected from them, after John's warning, the guards started to move. Marie promptly turned and rushed back into the facility, and she warned as she ran inside: "John, get out of there."_

 _"Wait, there's something I need to check." He replied, switching his earpiece on so Marie could hear everything on his side before he turned to Mycroft._

 _Present_

Marie took down another guard, catching his unconscious body before he could fall and make a noise, while she listened in on John's side of the earpiece.

* * *

 _Inside the Governor's office_

"I can fix her for you," Eurus was saying onscreen, "and then I'll give you her straight back, good as new. I promise."

"That's all?" The man off-screen asked, his voice shaking slightly. "What you're proposing is not... it's not right."

John turned to look at the Governor as he pointed out: " _Everyone_ who went in there got affected - 'enslaved', you said."

"Yes." The Governor agreed, not meeting John's eye as he shifted in his seat while staring at the screen.

"One after the other." John added, and the Governor confirmed: "Yes."

"Dr. Watson," Mycroft began with a frown, "I think we've-"

"Shut up." John interrupted flatly, causing Mycroft to shoot him an incredulous look, but John had turned back to the Governor as he said: "One question - that's _your_ voice, isn't it?"

He pointed at the Governor, who had turned to look at him before he looked back at the screen where Eurus was saying: "Do you really? Do you trust her?"

"You've got to stop saying these things." The Governor's voice replied tensely, and John pointed out sharply: "If Eurus has enslaved _you_ , then who exactly is in charge of this prison?"

Mycroft also stared at the screen in shock as the Governor's voice said off-screen: "It's _completely_ inappropriate."

The Governor stood up quickly, and he stated as his hand reached inside his suit jacket: "I'm sorry."

He removed a small remote in his hand, and John flinched: "No."

"Very, very sorry." The Governor repeated as he looked right at John, while Marie yelled in John's ear: "John, get out of there!"

"No." John said, though even he wasn't sure if he was replying to the Governor or Marie.

It didn't matter; the Governor pressed the button on the remote, instantly setting off the facility's alarms. Sirens blared while armed guards came rushing into the office, guns aimed at Mycroft and John who both quickly raised their hands in surrender.

"John!" Marie yelled, and he retorted swiftly: "Save Sherlock!"

* * *

 _In Eurus's cell room_

"You think it's a trick." Eurus whispered as she stared at her brother. "You look so... unsure; you're not used to being unsure, are you?"

"It's more common than you'd think." Sherlock returned, matching her gaze, but Eurus didn't rise to his comment as she murmured almost pitying: "Look at you."

Sherlock slowly lifted his right hand, reaching it out towards Eurus's as she continued softly: "The man who sees through everything... is exactly the man who doesn't notice..."

Their hands touched, and Eurus instantly connected their hands, linking her fingers through Sherlock's with a mocking gasp of feigned surprise.

"… When there's nothing to see through." She finished while Sherlock's breathing hitched as he glanced at their interlocked hands before looking back at Eurus as she smiled at him.

"Do you see how it was done?" Eurus inquired. "I know you like explanations."

Sherlock blinked rapidly, glancing down as he reread the warning scripts that he'd assumed were on glass panels all around Eurus. It was only now that he realized they were mounted and projecting sideways from the empty panel frames.

"Signs." Sherlock breathed as he looked back at Eurus. "You suspended the signs."

"And my voice?" She asked, anticipating where his mind would move next. "Throat mic. Puts me through the speakers."

There was a click, and the speakers cut off while Eurus continued in her regular voice: "Don't you think it's clever? Simple but clever?"

"Transparent." Sherlock answered, his voice shaking as he realized very belatedly that things were going very, very wrong. Marie and John had tried to warn him… and now, he realized it might be far too late.

"Well, you do keep asking me how I got out of here." Eurus taunted, before finally unclasping her fingers from Sherlock's and she slowly pulled her hand away as she whispered: "Like this."

She abruptly sucked in a harsh breath before swinging both her arms up sharply to slam her fists on either side of Sherlock's head, above the temples.

Sherlock grunted as he fell backwards onto the ground while his head spun and his ears rung, before he choked as Eurus slammed herself on top of him, her right arm crushing down on Sherlock's throat while she screamed viciously in his face.

Sherlock choked, unable to breathe or fight back as Eurus held his arms and legs down with her whole body while she screamed: "Get in here, all of you! Stop me killing him!"

Guards rushed in as the elevator doors opened, far too quickly for them not to have been waiting there since some time after Sherlock had arrived.

The thought passed vaguely through Sherlock's mind as he struggled to breathe, while Eurus lifted her head to say, eerily calmly to the guards: "No, no. Stop me in a minute."

She then looked back down at Sherlock as he choked and gasped, and she screamed in his face again while his face turned purple as she continued to strangle him.

* * *

 _Inside the facility_

John waited until he was led out of the Governor's office, away from the guns guarding the Governor, before he kicked the two guards holding his arms. The guards yelled in pain, their grip on John faltering for a moment.

Quickly swinging around as he broke free of their grasp, John punched one guard before head-butting the other. The guards fell, knocked out, and John dashed away quickly for the stairs while Mycroft started to struggle against his own guards just as an American-accented voice announced over the speakers: "Red alert! Red alert! Big bad bouncy red alert!"

"Dr. Watson!" The Governor called after John, but he ignored the man as he raced away, trying to find Marie or Sherlock so they could escape before...

"Klingons attacking lower decks!" The intercom continued to call.

Mycroft paused in his struggling, looking up at the nearest speaker in horror as the voice continued: "Also, cowboys in black hats, and Darth Vader!"

John paused as well, slowing down on the landing near the security camera room as the voice he would never, ever forget chirped over the intercom: "Don't be alarmed! _I'm_ here now! _I'm_ here now!"

John turned to look inside the security room, and he pointed in confusion while his jaw dropped in shock as the face of Jim Moriarty appeared on every screen, saying blithely in his normal tone: "Did you miss me? Did you miss me?"

John didn't even have time to blink when something hit the back of his head, hard. John collapsed, falling backwards with his eyes glazed over as Jim's voice continued to ring: "Miss me? Miss me? Miss me?"

* * *

 _Elsewhere in the facility_

Marie spun around, firing a bullet per second as she took down all the guards that had tried to surround her. But each time one fell, another took his place; Marie dodged and ran about, avoiding the tranquilizers shot her way while she fired, reloaded when she ran out of bullets, and repeated the sequence.

It was a tedious task more than an actual fight, made no less irritating as Jim's voice continued to chirp all around them: "Miss me? Miss me? Miss me?"

Marie shot another guard, leaving only three left amongst the piles of unconscious bodies, when Jim's voice suddenly sang: "Oh, dear, dear, dear, Vicky, you're being such a naughty girl."

Marie stopped in the middle of aiming at her next target, her eyes narrowing as the guards all kept their guns aimed at her while Jim's voice continued: "What would Sherlock say if John Watson ended up dead because of you?"

Her jaw clenched and Marie's green eyes flashed dangerously, while Jim's voice continued: "Oh, but that won't matter – you know better than to care about other people, right? So it's all right if John Watson dies if you can save yourself."

"Put your weapon down!" The guard ordered, and Marie glared at the man while Jim's voice said in feigned apology: "Oh, wait, I forgot! You love Sherlock, though, don't you? And you don't want John Watson to die… him, or Molly Hooper, or the great Inspector Lestrade."

" _Put_ your weapon _down_!" The guard repeated as Marie's teeth ground, while Jim's voice went on: "You started to _care_ ; you became _weak_."

His voice turned dark as he said lowly: "You forgot my lessons, naughty girl. You must be punished…"

Marie took a deep breath, before dropping her gun and letting the guard shoot her with a tranquilizer as Jim's voice breathed: "… For giving yourself weaknesses."

* * *

John slowly opened his eyes, blinking several times as the world swam around him. When his vision finally came back into focus, John grimaced as his head pounded feeling like someone was smashing his brain with an anvil.

Lifting his head, John placed a hand on the source of his pain at the back of his head before he looked around. He was lying on a bed somewhere, while Mycroft leant against the wall nearby, his chin propped on his hand in thought. Marie stood beside him, also leaning on the wall though her arms were crossed across her chest. Across the room from them, the Governor sat curled in the corner, his knees drawn up against his chest.

Sherlock had been pacing the length of the strange room they were in, though he kept himself closest to Marie as he walked. He stopped when John lifted his head, turning to his friend and asking: "How are you?"

Marie also turned to look at him, while Sherlock resumed pacing and John winced before he answered: "Bit of a lump."

"True that, but you have your uses." Sherlock answered casually as he turned and paced once more along the length of the glass wall caging them into the cell. A cell that looked identical to Eurus's, and probably what hers had originally looked like before she removed the glass.

"Did you see your sister?" John inquired as he sat up on the bed, and Sherlock replied shortly: "Yes."

"How was that?" John asked, glancing at his friend, and Sherlock took a deep breath before answering: "Family's always difficult."

"She tried to strangle him." Marie explained, and John answered: "Ah."

"And she had Marie shot. Again." Sherlock added, and John looked quickly at Marie in alarm but she waved it off as she elaborated: "With a tranquilizer."

"Mm." John hummed, before turning to Sherlock as he advised: "I think it's just your family that's _always_ difficult."

"Is this an occasion for banter?" Mycroft sighed at them, and Marie gestured at the eldest Holmes sibling as she added to Sherlock: "Case in point."

Sherlock nodded in agreement while Mycroft pursed his lips, when suddenly the sound of a phone dial sounded around them.

"Are we phoning someone?" John asked in confusion as he stood up, and Sherlock muttered as he glanced up at the security camera mounted on the ceiling in the corner: "Apparently."

Marie also glanced at the security camera before looking towards one of the speakers set up around the room while John looked across the cell at the Governor.

"What's _he_ doing here?" He asked, frowning in confusion, and Sherlock explained without even looking: "As he is told."

He finally stopped pacing, standing beside Marie as he turned to look at John, adding flatly: "Eurus is in control."

The phone connected at that moment, and Marie inhaled sharply as a young girl called tearfully over the speakers: "Help me. Please, I'm on a plane and everyone's asleep. Help me!"

The call abruptly cut as quickly as it had started, while Sherlock's lips parted and Marie's entire frame tensed.

The lights in the cell suddenly turned red, giving the room an eerie glow while Jim's voice drawled over the speakers: "Hello. My name's Jim Moriarty. "

Mycroft sighed heavily while Sherlock, John, and Marie exchanged looks as Jim said jauntily but darkly: "Welcome... to the final problem."


	30. First Test

John stared at Sherlock and Marie, and Sherlock reassured softly as the lights turned white again: "It's okay. He's dead."

"He doesn't _sound_ dead." John muttered dryly as the lights turned back to red, and Jim's voice explained: "This is a recorded announcement. Please say hullo to some very old friends of mine."

"Hello?" The little girl asked, the call suddenly reconnected to their cell, "I can hear you talking. Please help me! I'm on a plane and it's going to crash!"

Sherlock reached over, placing his hand over Marie's comfortingly as her fists clenched, while the lights turned back to white and Mycroft blurted out irritably: "What is this? We can't do this!"

"Do shut up, dear." Sherlock retorted, shooting his brother a look before staring into space as he listened intently while the girl cried: "Is someone there?"

"Is this supposed to be a game?" Mycroft demanded, still irritated, but Sherlock ordered firmly as he gave his brother a stern look: "Be quiet."

"Please help me!" The girl cried, sounding like she was crying again, and Marie's hand moved to clutch Sherlock's.

He squeezed it back reassuringly as he lifted his head and called to the girl as calmly as he could: "Oh, hello. Um, try-try to stay calm. Just… te-tell me what your name is."

"I'm not supposed to tell my name to strangers." The girl answered, sounding determined even though she was clearly frightened.

Marie closed her eyes while Sherlock answered slowly: "Of course not. Very good. But, um, I'll tell you mine. My name is-"

There was an abrupt click, and Sherlock paused as they heard the sound of static over the speakers.

"Hello?" Sherlock called, and Marie murmured softly: "So, the game begins."

Sherlock nodded as he held her hand tightly in his, before they turned as Eurus's voice said in feigned apology: "Oh dear. We seem to have lost the connection."

The whole group looked over to where a large screen was hanging from the ceiling, just in front of the elevator doors, and which showed Eurus smiling while she sat before what appeared to be the Governor's desk.

"How have you done this?" Mycroft demanded angrily as he stalked over to stand before the screen, behind the glass. "How is _any_ of this possible?"

"You put me in here, Mycroft." Eurus answered, her smile gone as she stared at her eldest brother with emotionless eyes. "You brought me my treats."

Mycroft's eyes dropped slightly before he looked back at Eurus, and Marie frowned; his expression looked almost… guilty.

Apparently John agreed with her as he also looked at Mycroft, asking: "What treats?"

Mycroft glanced at him, looking a little discomposed, and Sherlock also frowned as he glanced at his brother. Mycroft eyes flickered over and he returned his brother's gaze evenly, even though his lips thinned into a tight line as though something was troubling him.

Meanwhile, Eurus lifted a remote, pressing the button and all the lights in their cell turned red again. The screen then switched to show a close up of Jim's face, making John flinch while Marie and Sherlock's eyes narrowed as Jim praised in a fake American accent: "Clever Eurus! You go, girl!"

The lights turned back to white, and John demanded as he looked at his friends: "How can that be Moriarty?"

Before either of them could respond, Eurus reappeared on the screen as she explained: "Oh, he recorded lots of little messages for me before he died. Loved it."

Marie pursed her lips, while Eurus added lightly: "Did you know his brother was a station master? Think he was always jealous."

"The girl, where is she?" Sherlock interrupted, his voice low as he faced his sister. "Can I talk to her again?"

"Poor little thing." Eurus answered in a soft voice, her eyes drifting from Sherlock to Marie. "Alone in the sky in a great big plane with nowhere to land."

Marie narrowed her green eyes back at the woman, while Eurus turned her eyes back to Sherlock as she went on brusquely: "But where in the world is she? It's a clever little puzzle. If you want to apply yourself to it, I can reconnect you; but first..."

She settled back in her chair, before swinging the large backed office chair to the side and revealing for the first time a woman sitting on the balcony outside the Governor's office.

Marie inhaled sharply, while John gasped and Sherlock's hands tightened slightly as they took in the woman sitting out on the balcony, handcuffed to a chair with her mouth taped shut as she struggled in vain to free herself.

"That's my wife." The Governor gasped, his eyes going wide as he scrambled to his feet and came closer to the glass to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. "That's my wife!"

Eurus simply turned her head to look back at the camera as the Governor said in horror: "Oh, God, that's my wife!"

"I'm going to shoot the governor's wife." Eurus announced, and Mycroft turned away, placing his hand over his mouth while Sherlock and John stood in shock and the Governor begged: "Please, no."

He held out his hand to Sherlock, gesturing vaguely while keeping his eyes glued to the screen as he begged: "Please. Help her!"

Marie swallowed tensely, while Eurus explained casually: "In about a minute… Bang! Dead."

Eurus looked back at the camera, looking at them in the screen, and Sherlock said quietly: "Please don't do that."

Mycroft turned to look over, his brows furrowed, while Eurus said coolly: "Well, you _can_ stop me."

"Sherlock." Marie murmured, but he asked anyway: "How?"

"There's a gun in the hatch; take it." Eurus ordered, and Sherlock let go of Marie to walk across to the hatch on the side of the glass.

The hatch slid open as he approached, and Sherlock reached inside before pulling out a pistol inside and walking back as Eurus informed them: "You want to save the governor's wife?"

Sherlock stepped beside Marie once more, just as Eurus told them: "Choose Dr. Watson, Mycroft, or Victoire to kill the Governor."

John turned away, a mirthless smile on his face while Mycroft lifted his head in shock at Eurus's command. Marie didn't even blink, having anticipated this, while the Governor gasped: "Oh... oh God!"

John turned to face the screen once more, while Mycroft stared at Sherlock with wide eyes as Sherlock stood still beside Marie, staring first at Eurus and then at the Governor.

After a beat, Sherlock started to take a step towards the Governor, but Eurus cut in flatly: " _You_ can't do it, Sherlock. If you do it, it won't count. I'll kill her anyway. It has to be your brother, your friend, or your wife."

Mycroft shot Eurus an incredulous and – ironically – disturbed look, while the Governor turned to Mycroft as he said in a hushed but urgent voice: "You have to do this."

Mycroft looked at the Governor in wide-eyed horror, while the Governor turned to Sherlock as he begged: "Eurus _will_ kill her."

Marie pursed her lips while Sherlock's gaze dropped thoughtfully for a long moment.

Finally, he shifted the gun so that he was holding it by the muzzle while he muttered: "Doesn't appear we have a choice."

Marie glanced at him as he walked across the cell towards his brother, and Eurus smirked: "Right, then. Countdown starting."

Sherlock held out the gun to Mycroft, stopping a few paces before his brother who stared at Sherlock as he asked his sister: "How long?"

"No, no, no. The countdown is for me." Eurus answered, sounding bored.

Sherlock held the gun patiently before his brother as the Governor stared at Mycroft pleadingly while Eurus continued: "Withholding the precise deadline will apply the emotional pressure more evenly."

John had his eyes closed and his head bowed, and he began shaking his head as Eurus went on: "Where possible, please give me an explicit verbal indication of your anxiety levels."

Sherlock tilted his head slightly towards the screen, though he wasn't looking at it as Eurus went on: "I can't always read them from your behaviour."

"Perhaps because you lack personal experience." Marie noted coldly, and Eurus just smiled.

"Yes." She acknowledged.

John lifted his head, while Sherlock's grip on the gun tightened just slightly, when Mycroft said quietly: "I can't do this."

Sherlock looked back at his brother as Mycroft insisted, shaking his head slightly: "Can't. It's murder."

"This is not murder." The Governor interjected pleadingly. "This is saving my wife."

Mycroft glanced at the man, indecision dancing all over his face as he licked his lips, while Eurus added nonchalantly: "I'm particularly focused on internal conflicts, where strategising around a largely intuitive moral code appears to create a counter-intuitive result."

Marie pursed her own lips while Mycroft said grimly as he stared down at the gun Sherlock was offering him: "I will not kill. I will not have blood on my hands."

"Yes, very good." Eurus said, sounding almost bored as she turned away from the camera. "Thank you."

"Killing my wife is what you're doing." The Governor urged, but Mycroft took one more look at the gun in Sherlock's hand before he physically backed away, shaking his head.

"No." Mycroft repeated, his voice actually shaking as he looked at his younger brother.

Sherlock held Mycroft's gaze for another moment before he lowered his eyes and turned away.

"Okay, fine." He muttered, before turning and holding the gun out to John.

"John." He called, though there was so much more to the simple word.

John was staring at Eurus, his hands behind his back and his lips pressed into a thin line, but he let his mouth open as he turned to Sherlock. He paused, unable to bring himself to answer, and the Governor stared at John now tearfully.

"Dr. Watson, are you married?" The Governor pleaded, and John replied shortly while still holding Sherlock's gaze: "I was."

"What happened?" The Governor asked, his voice breaking, but John's voice was even as he answered while still looking at Sherlock: "She died."

Sherlock met his gaze evenly, while the Governor pleaded as he walked closer to John: "What would you give to get her back? I mean, if you could, if it was possible?"

Marie, John, and Sherlock turned to look at the man as the Governor stopped before John, whispering: "What would you do to save her?"

John met the man's gaze evenly, though uncertainty danced in his eyes and the Governor begged as he gestured at the screen behind him: "Eurus _will_ kill me. _Please_ save my wife."

John hesitated, but Eurus suddenly chimed in: "There will, I'm afraid, be regular prompts to create an atmosphere of urgency."

She clicked her remote again, switching the lights in the cell to red, and suddenly the screen changed to show another close-up of Jim Moriarity's face as he said in an over-exaggerated whisper: "Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-"

The lights turned back to white, showing Eurus on the screen for a few seconds, before it switched back to red again and Jim's face returned as he repeated: "Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tock, tick-tock-"

The lights turned back to white, and the Governor stared at John with tear-filled eyes.

Sherlock also looked at John, waiting, but the blond man looked over at Marie. She was staring at the screen where Moriarty had just been, her face unreadable to most.

But John wasn't most and he squared his shoulders and turned back to Sherlock, who jerked his head slightly at the gun, his eyes dropping from John's as he made his silent plea.

John took the gun firmly, and Sherlock met his gaze briefly, neither gratitude nor sorrow in his eyes before he walked out of the way. Mycroft turned away, his hand over his face as he was unable to watch, as John faced the Governor once more.

"What's your name?" John queried, his left hand flexing unconsciously, and the Governor answered quietly: "David."

"And you're sure about this, David?" John asked seriously, and David retorted even though he stood tense and trembling: "'Course I'm bloody sure."

"Nearly there." Eurus mused, her eyes fixed on the screen as she watched avidly.

John hesitated for a moment, before he said determinedly: "Right. D'you want to ... pray, or anything?"

"With Eurus Holmes in the world, who the hell would I pray to?" David asked, a bitter smile appearing on his face as he stared at John with teary eyes.

John's eyes moved to the screen behind David, where he could see the man's wife struggling desperately against her bonds.

He then looked back at David as he said firmly: "You are a good man, and you are doing a good thing."

"So are you." David answered in a soft voice, smiling at John, who answered flatly: "I'll spend the rest of my life telling myself that."

David could only smile a little before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath as he awaited his fate. John turned to glance once more at Sherlock, who just nodded slightly, his face grim and more serious than he'd ever been before. Then again, this was likely the worst situation they had ever landed themselves in; for nothing, not Moriarty, not Magnusson, not even finding out Eurus Holmes existed, could hold a candle to taking an innocent man's life.

Mycroft looked away again, while John turned, unable to look at Marie as he raised the gun to point directly at David.

John held his finger on the trigger, but his hand shook as he hesitated once more. Mycroft glanced over when nothing happened, while David pleaded tearfully: "Please!"

John's left hand clenched into a fist and he took a deep breath, trying to work up his nerve while he pointed the gun slightly lower on David's chest.

Unable to bear watching – or perhaps trying to save John the pain of looking at his face – David turned around, showing his back to John as he started to cry. He backed closer to John, who took a deep breath.

Hesitating for a moment, he glanced at Sherlock and then at Marie, who was watching him with a strangely bitter expression.

Quickly turning away, John reached out to David, hesitating once before placing his hand on David's shoulder.

The man flinched, gasping in fright as he made to glance back but John tapped his shoulder and the man understood. Shakily, David got down on his knees, choking when John pressed the gun more firmly against the back of David's head.

Mycroft turned away, unable to watch, while John murmured softly to David: "I know that you're scared, but you should also be very proud."

"Just do it." David pleaded, starting to cry as his brave front crumbled.

John patted the man's shoulder once more before straightening up again and taking aim yet again.

"Be quick!" David begged, and John adjusted his position, holding the gun tightly with both of his hands now instead as he pointed it at David's head.

The room turned red once more as Jim whispered from the screen, his head tilting side to side rhythmically with his words: "Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick."

The lights turned white again as Sherlock closed his eyes before looking back at John as the blond man took a deep breath through his nose.

"This is very good, Dr. Watson." Eurus sighed, before adding regretfully: "I should have fitted you with a cardiograph."

John's hands had started to tremble yet again, and he muttered quietly and tensely: "Goodbye, David."

David whimpered as the lights turned red once more, and Jim whispered, harshly this time: "Tock-tock-tock-tock-tock-tock-tock tick-tick-tick."

The lights turned to white once more, and as John tried to work up his nerve, David cried out: "Please!"

And John dropped the gun.

"I can't." He whispered, turning away. "I'm sorry." He looked at Sherlock. "I can't do it."

David sobbed, while Sherlock began: "I know. It's all right."

David turned and cried: "Why?! Why-?!"

He stopped when there was a click, and Sherlock's lips thinned while John whirled around with wide eyes to see Marie holding the gun to the back of David's head.

When she'd moved or grabbed the gun, he had no idea, but John could only gape as Marie said quietly: "I'm sorry, David. You were a brave man."

"Remember me." David whispered, and she promised grimly: "Always."

"Wait, Marie, stop!" John shouted in alarm, but David closed his eyes and relaxed just before Marie shot him in the head.


	31. Morals

John flinched as David's body slumped over, blood spurting out of the bullet hole through his brain. Mycroft choked, quickly turning away again and pressing his hand over his mouth as he coughed and tried not to vomit, while Sherlock turned to Marie as she stood, unmoving and staring down at David's dead body.

"Are you all right?" He asked her quietly, and Marie looked at him.

"No." She answered candidly, her emotionless delivery somehow showing the depth of just how not okay she was.

Sherlock gently took the gun from her, tossing it to the ground after Marie finally released her grip on it, before taking her shoulders in his hands as he leaned down to look her in the eye.

She was avoiding his gaze, staring blankly at the blood seeping along the cell floor though she also kept her eyes averted from the source of the blood.

"Interesting." Eurus murmured as she watched the screen avidly.

John exhaled shakily, his hands clenched into tight fists as he kept his eyes fixed on Sherlock and Marie alone, while Mycroft took a deep breath from his place against the wall.

Sherlock squeezed Marie's shoulders before turning his head so he was looking back at Eurus as he stated flatly: "All right, there you go. You got what you wanted..."

He inhaled sharply before finishing: "And he's dead."

Marie's hand twitched at her side, but she showed no other reaction while Eurus answered with a shrug: "Dead or alive, he really wasn't very interesting, but you four..."

She faced the camera again, leaning in closer as she said proudly: "You four were wonderful. Thank you."

She leaned in even closer as she continued intensely: "You see what you did, Dr. Watson." John looked at Eurus finally. "Specifically because of your moral code…"

John walked forward slightly, coming up behind Sherlock and Marie as Eurus stated pointedly: "… Because you don't want blood on your hands; you almost killed two people instead of one."

"Two people?" John repeated, both he and Sherlock frowning while Marie finally turned her head to look right at Eurus as the woman murmured: "But, you were saved from that guilt…"

Eurus fixed her eyes on Marie as she spoke: "Thanks to Victoire."

Marie's eyes narrowed on Eurus while John and Sherlock looked to Marie as Eurus continued: "I must say, I hadn't anticipated that _you_ would shoot him."

"Your games are too easy, _Eurus_."

Eurus's eyes narrowed at Marie's words while John flinched slightly at Marie's cold tone as the ex-assassin stared Eurus down, continuing sharply: "You might have Sherlock and Mycroft dance for your amusement, but I was sculpted into who I am today by a psychopath."

"I know." Eurus answered just as coldly as Marie's tone, but Marie countered: "You know the facts – and you thought you would be able to read me because of what Jim told you."

Marie's eyes narrowed into slits when she continued in a low voice: "But for someone who feels neither pain nor love, you can't possibly know the lengths that someone like me can go to."

Sherlock pursed his lips while Eurus glared as Marie said icily: "You're right; a doctor like John, who took an oath to _never_ take an innocent life, and a man who has never had blood spilled on his hands like Mycroft will never be able to break their moral code."

"However," Marie's tone went dark as she continued, "for an ex-assassin like me, who was trained by a psychopath and already painted her hands ten times over with good _and_ bad blood... but who has also fallen in love, who knows how stupid love can make us…"

A mirthless smile appeared on her face as Marie concluded: "For someone like that, one more innocent's death makes no difference; not if it means I will save another from the same fate."

"I see." Eurus said calmly, though her eyes were burning with anger as she stared at Marie.

"Wait, I-I don't." John interjected. "What other?"

He was looking at Marie, but Sherlock was the one who responded quietly: "Eurus would have killed the wife if one of you didn't kill the Governor. She was counting on you three to fail the test, and then she would shoot both the Governor and his wife anyway."

"Why?" John asked, horrified, and Sherlock murmured: "To inspire guilt in you – to shake your core by attacking your greatest strength: your moral standard."

"Why?" John repeated, unable to believe what he was hearing, and Marie answered bitterly: "Because it's _fun._ "

She then turned cold green eyes back on Eurus as she hissed: "But this wasn't fun, Eurus – it was too easy to see through your trick. Now."

Marie's eyes burnt with anger and challenge as she goaded: "Will you shoot David's wife? Are you going to be that predictable?"

Eurus stared back at her, before she nodded slowly.

"I see now." Eurus repeated, staring at Marie intently. "You are more surprising than I thought."

Her gaze hardened and she added flatly: "I won't be making that mistake again."

"I don't doubt it." Marie answered just as flatly, because it was true; she'd known, even before she'd challenged Eurus, that there was only one inevitable outcome from Eurus's game. She'd known the moment she'd heard Jim's voice again.

Sherlock glanced at her, but Marie didn't look at him, while Eurus pressed a button, and guards moved around behind her, going to fetch the Governor's wife and removing her from harm's way.

Eurus meanwhile sat back, suddenly back to business and returning to her composed albeit emotionless self as she ordered: "Sherlock, pick up the gun. It's your turn next."

Sherlock glanced at the pistol lying on the ground between himself and Marie as Eurus continued monotonously: "When I tell you to use it – _and I will_ – remember the lesson from this time."

John's eyes flew to Marie in alarm, but the brunette herself looked unperturbed while Sherlock queried quietly: "What if I don't _want_ a gun?"

"Oh, the gun is intended as a mercy." Eurus answered with a light smile, and Sherlock inquired: "For whom?"

"You." Eurus answered calmly, looking right at Sherlock.

"How so?" Sherlock demanded, looking back at his sister, and Eurus asked: "If someone else had to die, would you really want to do it with your bare hands? It would waste valuable time."

John's jaw dropped, while Mycroft's eyes flickered over to Marie and then Sherlock in horror as they let Eurus's implication sink in. Again, however, Marie was seemingly unperturbed though she pressed her lips as she stared at Eurus.

Sherlock's jaw had clenched, his face thoughtful as he turned his eyes to Marie's. She met his gaze this time, and she gave him a slight nod.

Sherlock still hesitated, his eyes moving to John, who met his gaze before he looked back at Eurus briefly.

"Probably just take it." John advised, agreeing with Marie as he looked back at Sherlock briefly before casting his eyes down.

Sherlock paused, but then bent down, picking up the gun. He pulled out the clip as he stood back up before Marie, checking it, before slotting it back into place as he turned to face the screen once more.

"There's only one bullet left." Sherlock commented, and Eurus answered calmly: "You will only _need_ one. But you _will_ need it."

Marie pursed her lips as she glanced quickly between John and Mycroft before looking back at Sherlock, just as they heard a click from the right side of the cell.

The group all turned to look, just as a panel on the wall slid open to reveal a narrow, hidden passageway.

"Please, go through." Eurus informed them. "There's a few tasks for you, and a girl on a plane is getting very, _very_ scared."

Sherlock stared at Eurus for a moment longer before he turned and walked towards the opening. He reached for Marie as he went, taking her hand gently in his and she let him lead her along as they walked through the doorway while John and Mycroft followed behind.

Sherlock stopped just inside the doorway, however, turning to Mycroft as he asked quietly out of Eurus's line of sight: "Treats?"

"Yes." Mycroft answered shortly and somewhat evasively. "You know, a violin."

"In exchange for…?" Sherlock countered sharply, his eyes boring into his brother's intently.

Mycroft paused, before he answered more than a little defensively: "She's very clever."

"I'm beginning to think you're _not_." Sherlock answered flatly as he stared at his brother.

Mycroft's jaw locked, but he met Sherlock's gaze squarely while Marie simply watched them silently.

John glanced between them before he turned to Marie and asked the question that had been on his mind: " _How_ did you know what that, that…"

He struggled to come up with an apt description of Eurus, but Marie answered his question, not needing to hear it in full to know what he was confused about.

"Someone like me," Marie explained quietly, "who knows only too well how desperate love can make us when we want nothing more than to save the person we love," she sighed, "but who also knows how the mind of psychopath, who feels nothing, works…"

She shrugged as she finished: "It wasn't too hard to figure out what Eurus wanted from us."

"Even so-" John began to protest, but Marie said quietly: "She wanted us to fail, and then pull the rug out from under us. But, I've been punished one too many times by Jim in the same manner in the past. I know exactly what to do, to make her not punish us."

Sherlock squeezed Marie's hand gently in his and she looked at him. The couple exchanged looks, before Marie sighed and leant her head against Sherlock's shoulder while he hugged her briefly to him.

Mycroft just watched them silently, while John suddenly recalled Marie's words that night, so long ago now, when she had revealed her true self and her haunted past.

" _Punishment for failure." Marie said as they all sat in the sitting room of 221B Baker Street, and John interrupted to ask: "Punishment how? Beatings?"_

 _"Mental torture." Marie had answered. "Or the worst – sitting back and watching others suffer for your failures. And you just had to sit and endure their screams."_

And suddenly, John felt even sicker to his stomach than he had been feeling until that moment as the full weight of Marie's words back then sunk in now. As he realized exactly why the scenario with the Governor hadn't surprised Marie in the slightest.

The lights turned red in the cell behind them at that moment, and Jim's voice called cheerfully: "Come on now! Aaaaaall aboard! Choo-choo! Choo-choo!"

The group walked out completely at last, heading down the narrow passageway and into a different room. The walls were grey, like the rest of the facility, but unlike the other rooms they were also splashed with red paint, making it look like the walls were covered in blood.

Sherlock glanced around the room as he walked in first, and he noted dryly as the others followed him inside: "Someone's been redecorating."

"Is that allowed?" John asked as he also looked around in shock, but Sherlock pointed out: "She's literally taken over the asylum. We have more to worry about than her choice of colour scheme."

Sherlock wandered around the room, walking before the large windows at the far side of the room and checking them, peering down briefly at the sea below, before coming back to the centre of the room. Marie was examining the glass table that stood in the middle of the room, eyeing the envelope that was lying on it as though it were a bomb – which it very well could be.

John joined her, while Mycroft remained near the doorway, examining the walls and he commented as he ran his fingers over the red paint: "Barely dry. Recent."

"It's for our benefit." Sherlock answered shortly.

The door they had entered through slid shut just then, while the screen on the wall across from the windows lit up to reveal Eurus once more as she stated almost indulgently: "As a motivator to your continued co-operation, I'm now reconnecting you."

Lifting her remote once more, Eurus clicked it and Jim's face took her place on the screen as Sherlock's ex-nemesis called in his exaggerated American accent: "Fasten your seatbelts! It's gonna be a bumpy night."

The sound clicked, and John glanced at his friends before focusing as the little girl from before called fearfully over the speakers: "Are-are you still there?"

"Yes, hello?" Sherlock called.

There was no immediate response, and Sherlock called: "Hello. We're still here. Can you hear us?"

"Yes." The little girl answered at last, and Sherlock soothed: "Everything's gonna be all right. I just need you to tell me where you are. Outside, is it day or night?"

"Night." The girl replied swiftly.

Sherlock nodded his head, while Mycroft snapped irritably as he folded his arms across his chest: "That certainly narrows it down to half the planet."

"Shut up." Marie hissed at him under her breath as she, John, and Sherlock all shot Mycroft pointed looks, even as Sherlock asked the little girl: "What kind of a plane are you on?"

"Um, I don't know." The girl answered, her voice shaking, and Sherlock almost growled in exasperation and frustration.

"Is it big or small?" John interjected, taking over, and the girl answered immediately: "Big."

"Lots of people on it?" John asked while Marie nodded at him, agreeing with his line of questioning.

The little girl paused, before she answered: "Lots and lots, but they're all asleep; I can't wake them up."

"Where did you take off from?" Sherlock tried this time, but the girl continued over him: "Even the driver's asleep."

"No, I understand; but where did you come from?" Sherlock asked, keeping his impatience in check. "Where did the plane take off?"

"My nan's." The girl answered firmly, and Marie hung her head while Sherlock tried persistently: "And where are you going?"

"Home." The girl replied, and John looked at Sherlock worriedly while Sherlock called: "No, I mean what airport are you-"

There was a click over the speakers, and Sherlock stopped speaking while Eurus reappeared on the screen before them as she said in an almost sing-song voice: "Enough for now."

She leant in close to the camera, her eyes wide as she grinned at them while saying blithely: "Time to play a _new_ game."

John pursed his lips together while Sherlock turned away in frustration, but Eurus ignored their irritation as she ordered: "Look on the table in front of you."

The group all glanced at the table and the single envelope on top of it, Sherlock and Marie standing on one side while John stood opposite them. Mycroft stood behind and slightly to the side of John, his arms still folded, as Eurus insisted: "Open the envelope!"

John scratched his ear in annoyance, while Mycroft lifted his head to the ceiling irritably. Sherlock meanwhile glanced at Eurus before placing the pistol he'd been given onto the table and picking up the envelope instead as she barked: "If you want to speak to the girl again, _earn_ yourself some phone time!"

Sherlock opened the envelope, Marie and John moving so they could see over his shoulder while Mycroft snapped: "This is inhuman; this is insane!"

"Mycroft, we know." John retorted, shooting Mycroft a look.

Mycroft turned his head away, exasperated, while Sherlock and Marie ignored them completely as they went quickly over the contents of the envelope, which showed photographs of three men.

Marie glanced up as Eurus explained to them: "Six months ago, a man called Evans was murdered; unsolved… except by me."

Sherlock laid out the photos on the table so they could see them at once, while Eurus continued: "He was shot from a distance of three hundred metres with _this_ rifle."

As she spoke, a light lit up above Sherlock's head and they all looked up to see an old-fashioned rifle sitting on a rack on the ceiling beam. Sherlock reached up, taking the gun down and starting to examine it as Eurus went on: "Now, if the police had any brains they'd realise there are three suspects, all brothers. Nathan Garrideb, Alex Garrideb and Howard Garrideb."

The trio glanced down at the photographs as she spoke, now realizing the significance of the photographs. Each one was labeled with the name of the brother depicted, and Marie frowned as Eurus added: "All these photos are up-to-date, but _which_ one pulled the trigger, Sherlock? Which one?"


	32. Second Test

John looked back at Eurus as he asked incredulously: "What's this? W-we're supposed to solve this based on what?"

"This." Sherlock replied as he kept his eyes fixed on the photographs. "This is all we get."

John looked at Sherlock in disbelief, while Marie moved her gaze to take the rifle from Sherlock. She examined it briefly while Eurus called: "Please, make use of your friends, Sherlock."

They all looked back at her, their brows furrowing as Eurus stated: "I want to see you interact with people that you're close to. Also, you may have to choose which one to keep."

Marie scowled while John frowned and glanced at her and then Mycroft with a puzzled look.

Sherlock ignored Eurus as he took the rifle back from Marie, before he held it out in both hands as he looked at Mycroft first.

"What do you make of it?" Sherlock inquired, and Mycroft asked flatly: "Am I being asked to prove my usefulness?"

"Yes, I should think you are." Sherlock answered just as flatly, and Mycroft replied in a low voice: "I will not be manipulated like this."

Marie glanced over at him, her eyes unreadable, while Sherlock just answered flatly: "Fine. John?"

He turned to his friend, who looked at Mycroft uneasily. Mycroft just looked away, and Sherlock prodded more firmly: "John?"

John finally turned back to Sherlock, and with an internal sigh he took the rifle as he began: "Yeah, I think I've seen one of these. It's a buffalo gun."

He lifted the gun, checking it, and then peered through the telescopic sight as he listed: "I'd say nineteen forties, old-fashioned sight, no crosshairs."

Sherlock took back the rifle before looking at Marie.

"Marie?" He asked quietly, and she answered coolly but distinctly: "Kickback on a gun like this would be substantial."

"Exactly." Sherlock agreed as he glanced briefly over the photos of the brothers once more, muttering: "Glasses, glasses."

"Nathan." Marie pointed out, pointing at the first brother in the photographs, and Sherlock continued their thoughts aloud: "Nathan wears glasses. Evans was shot from three hundred metres."

"So?" John asked, and Sherlock reminded him: "It's like Marie said – the kickback from a gun of this calibre would be massive."

He tapped the photograph of Nathan as he pointed out: "No cuts, no scarring."

"Not Nathan, then." Marie concluded, and Sherlock nodded as he turned the photograph over.

"Who's next?" Sherlock muttered, his eyes moving onto the next brother – Alex – while Mycroft commented sarcastically: "Well done, Dr. Watson, _Victoire_."

Marie shot him a resentful look, which Mycroft ignored as he said with a falsely friendly smile in an equally falsely sweet voice: "How useful you are."

John glanced at Mycroft as well, while Mycroft demanded, his tone dropping to become serious: "Do you have a suspicion we're being made to compete?"

"You think you're competing against _me?_ " Marie inquired, her brow shooting up as she examined Mycroft with a measure of incredulity that puzzled the eldest Holmes.

But his attention was diverted as John retorted, taking a step closer to Mycroft: "No, we're not competing. There's a plane in the air that's gonna crash, so what we're doing is actually trying to save a little girl."

John stared Mycroft right in the eye as he continued in a low but firm voice: "Today we have to be soldiers, Mycroft," both Sherlock and John glanced over sharply at that, "soldiers, and that means to _hell_ with what happens to us."

John stalked away from the other man angrily as he finished, while Marie watched sadly, knowing it was her words that had – at the end of the day – hit John hard.

Sherlock lowered his head again, while Mycroft raised his brows briefly before he said, sounding genuine for the first time in a while: "Your priorities do you credit."

"No," John shot back angrily as he turned on Mycroft again, "my priorities almost got a woman killed."

He turned away again, walking back the long way around to rejoin Marie and Sherlock at the table when Eurus suddenly piped up: "Now, as I understand it, Sherlock-"

Both Holmes brothers and Marie glanced up at Eurus as she almost sing-songed: "You try to repress your emotions to refine your reasoning. I'd like to see how that works, so, if you don't mind, I'm going to apply some context to your deductions."

Before any of them could even let her words fully sink in, they heard a click behind them. The group all turned to look towards the windows, just as three men, tied up and gagged, dropped down into view.

"Oh, dear God." Mycroft gasped while Marie's jaw actually dropped open as they stared at the three men dangling from a single rope each before the window.

Each man had a nametag hanging around their necks, identifying each man as one of the three brothers, and which blew in the wind as the three men struggled desperately against their bonds.

The four inside the room paled as they stared at the three men, while Eurus explained casually: "Two of the Garridebs work here as orderlies, so getting the third along really wasn't too difficult."

The group inside the room barely heard her as they stepped closer to the windows, still unable to believe their eyes as they stared at the three men dangling right in front of them.

"Once you bring in your verdict," Eurus continued regardless, "let me know and justice will be done."

"Justice?" Sherlock repeated in horror, while John asked fearfully: "What will you do with them?"

"Early release." Eurus answered.

Marie closed her eyes while Sherlock's darted down to the sea below and he turned back to face his sister as he realized: "You'll drop them into the sea."

"Sink, or swim." Eurus stated calmly, and John shouted as he too turned back to the screen: "They're tied up!"

"Exactly!" Eurus countered blithely. "Now there is context."

Mycroft kept his eyes fixed in horror on the men literally by a single rope above their doom – for it was obvious that if they fell from this height and with their entire bodies bound, they would never survive – while Sherlock placed the rifle down on the table.

He leant on the table while he examined the photographs as Eurus went on: "Please, continue with your deductions. I'm now focusing on the difference to your mental capacity a specified consequence can make."

"Why should we bother?" Mycroft demanded as he also turned to face his sister while John glanced with a grimace at the men outside the window. "What if we're disinclined to play your games, _little sister_?"

Eurus simply chuckled, though it was void of any real humour, before she reminded them: "I have – _if_ you remember – provided you with some motivation."

Marie's jaw clenched as she turned back to the room while the speakers clicked and the little girl's voice came over the speakers, crying: "We're going through the clouds, like cotton wool."

Mycroft clasped his hands over his head, bowing it in frustration, while Sherlock straightened up from where he'd been poring over the photographs and he groaned while closing his eyes: "Oh. That's nice. Try to tell me more about the plane."

"Why won't my mummy wake up?" The girl asked desperately, her fear starting to make her unreachable to their questions.

Before they could say any more, the speaker clicked again and Eurus was back on the screen, watching them.

Sherlock opened his eyes while Marie stepped forward, taking his hand in hers tightly while pressing her other hand on his back. He gripped her hand like a lifeline while she leant slightly against him as they both looked down at the photographs once more.

"So it's got to be one of the other two." Sherlock muttered as he touched Alex's photograph in the middle, looking between that one and the one beside it of Howard.

Sherlock turned to look at the brothers directly through the window, still holding Marie's hand tightly in his left one as he stated: "Now, Howard."

Sherlock walked closer, Marie trailing tightly behind him as Sherlock stopped before Howard at the window while rattling off swiftly: "Howard's a lifelong drunk: pallor of his skin, terminal gin blossoms on his red nose, and – terror notwithstanding – a bad case of the DTs."

John glanced at Sherlock, before looking back at the terrified man outside as Sherlock muttered: "There's no way _he_ could have taken that shot from three hundred metres away."

Sherlock stalked away, walking precisely three steps forward to stop before the man in the middle as he muttered: "So that leaves us with Alex."

Marie's grip on him tightened while Sherlock fired off as he stared at the last brother intently: "Indentations on the temples suggest he habitually wears glasses. Frown lines suggest a lifetime of peering."

"He's shortsighted, or he _was_." Mycroft chimed in, unable to keep his deductions to himself with Sherlock listing his own so rapidly. "His recent laser surgery has done the trick."

"Laser surgery?" Sherlock asked, glancing at Mycroft, and Marie said softly: "His clothes."

"He's made an effort." Mycroft agreed, and Sherlock looked at Alex's suit, noting the much neater and definitely more groomed appearance compared to his brothers.

"That's _very_ good." John breathed, and Sherlock agreed quietly but intensely: "Excellent. Suddenly he sees himself in quite a different light now that he's dumped the specs. Even has a spray tan."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he added: "But he's clearly not used to his new personal grooming ritual; that can be told by the state of his fingernails and the fact that there's hair growing in his ears."

Sherlock's speed increased as he listed: "So it's a superficial job, then. But he got his eyes fixed. His hands were steady. _He_ pulled the trigger."

He turned back to the screen as he stated loudly while pointing at Alex: " _He_ killed Evans."

"Are you ready to condemn the prisoner?" Eurus asked lightly, and suddenly the full weight of the situation returned, dropping on the group like a tonne of bricks.

Sherlock paused, while Marie's hands tightened on Sherlock's, and Mycroft whispered as he turned to his brother: "Sherlock, we can't do this."

But Sherlock spat back as he lowered his hand and looked back out the window: "The _plane_ , remember? There's a little girl trapped on that plane."

"It's not your daughter." Mycroft reminded seriously, but Sherlock answered quietly: "She is someone else's daughter."

There was nothing Mycroft to say to that, and he folded his lips tightly while Eurus asked sharply: "Sherlock? Are you ready?"

Sherlock's head jerked slightly to the side at her call, his expression filled with uncertainty as he hesitated now that it had come to this.

John looked at his friend, not saying a word and holding no judgment in his gaze as Sherlock dithered for a moment, biting his lip. Marie also remained silent as she waited for Sherlock to make the call – it had to be his to make, Eurus was making that much very clear.

"Alex." Sherlock finally said softly, unable to look at the man.

" _Say_ it." Eurus commanded. "Condemn him."

John and Mycroft turned to look grimly out the window at the man hanging before them, while Sherlock's hand tightened around Marie's as Eurus ordered: "Condemn him in the knowledge of what will happen to the man you name."

Sherlock finally also turned to face the man he knew was the culprit, the man he was condemning to death. Marie made to turn as well, but Sherlock pulled her behind his back, holding her there tightly.

Sensing his wish, she didn't struggle, simply remaining still where she couldn't see out the window as Sherlock paused for a long moment before he finally said quietly but firmly: "I condemn Alex Garrideb."

The moment the words left his mouth, the ropes holding Nathan and Howard Garrideb suddenly released, dropping the two brothers out of sight and to their death.

The three men inside the room all flinched back in shock and absolute horror, and Marie looked up at Sherlock in alarm while Jim's voice called from behind them: "Mind the gap."

Marie drew in a sharp breath when she saw only Alex left hanging before them, instantly working out what must have happened while Eurus stated from behind them: "Congratulations."

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly before turning back to the screen as Eurus said lightly: "You got the right one."

Marie growled, actually growled she was so furious, while Sherlock let go of her to walk slowly towards the screen as Eurus ordered: "Now, go through the door."

She nodded to the side, just as the door on the other side of the room slid open, while John stalked towards the screen as he asked in a low but angry voice: "You dropped the other two. Why?"

Eurus stared at him, and she commented, looking intrigued: "Interesting."

"WHY?!" John yelled, his voice sharp and filled with dark anger.

Marie turned from the windows as well, her eyes burning with rage as she too glared at Eurus, who was saying thoughtfully: "Does it really make a difference, killing the innocent instead of the guilty?"

Sherlock was stalking towards the door, his strides getting quicker as though he were trying to leave before-

"Let's see." Eurus said before stabbing her finger onto a remote control on the desk before her.

Marie flinched as the shadow behind her disappeared, indicating Alex had also been dropped to join his brothers.

John and Mycroft both turned to look out the window in shock, while Moriarty's face reappeared on the screen as he called: "The train has left the station!"

Sherlock was standing by the open doorway, still and with his head bowed; he'd hoped he could leave the room, that he could prevent this from happening; after all, Eurus was clearly showing her priority towards him over the others.

But it hadn't worked.

Sherlock walked back into the room, coming up behind John as his friend stared at the empty window while Eurus reappeared on the screen, saying thoughtfully: "No. That felt pretty much the same."

John clenched his teeth, but Sherlock called softly: "John."

John turned to face his friend sharply, his breathing ragged as he breathed deeply through his nose, and Sherlock advised: "Don't let her distract you."

"Distract me?" John repeated tightly, but Sherlock reminded firmly: "Soldiers today."

John stared back at his friend for a beat, before he straightened up determinedly. Sherlock moved his gaze to Marie, who was watching them with another unreadable expression in her eyes. Though, what worried Sherlock more was the fact that he couldn't read her at all – she was hiding something from him.

But Marie nodded at him, her eyes moving to John pointedly, and Sherlock was forced to let the issue rest for now. He would ask Marie what was going on in her mind later.

With one last glance at his brother, who was looking shaken by the what had happened but just as grimly determined as John, Sherlock turned and led the way through the opened door. John followed, while Marie glanced briefly at Mycroft.

He saw her glance, and he raised a brow but she shook her head and walked after John. Mycroft followed her last, sighing slightly and rubbing one hand tiredly over his forehead as he went.

The group made their way down the narrow passageway before coming up on another door, which slid open as Sherlock walked up. He peered inside warily, before leading them inside and the whole group frowned as they took in the darkened room with a single, empty coffin in standing in the centre, lit up by the lights above it.

Sherlock walked over to peer at the simple but elegant coffin intently, frowning as he took in the tiny details both on the inside and outside of the wooden case.

There was a low rumble as the door slid shut behind them while Eurus called over the speakers: "One more minute on the phone."

The speakers let out a dim squeal before there was another click and the little girl called in a terrified voice: "Frightened. I'm really frightened."

Marie was staring at the coffin, her brows furrowed, while Sherlock closed his eyes as he replied to the girl: "It's okay, don't worry. I don't have very long with you, so I just need you to tell me what you can see outside the plane."

"Just the sea. I can see the sea." The girl answered, and Sherlock asked: "Are there ships on it?"

"No ships." The girl answered. "I can see lights in the distance."

"Is it a city?" Sherlock tried, and the girl replied in a trembling voice: "I think so."

Sherlock glanced at Marie and John, who were standing beside him on one side of the coffin, while Mycroft whispered from where he was standing opposite his brother: "She's about to fly over a city in a pilotless plane. We'll have to talk her through it."

"Through what?" John asked just as quietly but sounding confused, when the girl called in a frightened voice: "Hello? Are you still there?"

"Still here. Just give us a minute." Sherlock called back, and Mycroft explained to John softly: "Getting the plane away from any mainland, any populated areas. It _has_ to crash in the sea."

John stared at Mycroft incredulously as he demanded in a whisper: "What about the girl?"

"Well, obviously, Dr. Watson, she's the one who's going to crash it." Mycroft pointed out quietly, and John's jaw dropped.

"No." He argued, keeping his voice low. "W-we could help her land it."

Sherlock glanced between the pair while Marie pursed her lips as Mycroft hissed back at John: "And if we fail, and she crashes into a city? How many will die then?"

"How are we gonna get her to do that?" John demanded, and Mycroft looked pointedly down at the coffin as he answered softly: "I'm afraid we're going to have to give her hope."


	33. Third Test

John stared at Mycroft, while Sherlock called loudly: "Is there really no-one there that can help you? Have you really, _really_ checked?"

"Everyone's asleep." The girl replied, sounding like she was on the verge of crying again. "Will you help me?"

"We're going to do everything that we can." Sherlock replied, though his voice trembled slightly as he glanced between John and Mycroft before his eyes landed on Marie.

He then frowned, barely hearing the little girl as she cried: "I'm scared. I'm really scared."

"It's all right." Sherlock reassured absently, his eyes still on Marie. "I-"

There was another click, cutting the call once more, and Sherlock glanced over at the screen mounted on the wall as Eurus appeared, saying: "Now, back to the matter in hand."

Sherlock looked back at Marie, confused by the drawn expression on her face, while Eurus stated: "Coffin. Problem: someone is about to die."

Sherlock glanced down at he coffin again while Eurus went on: "It will be – as I understand it – a tragedy."

Sherlock rubbed his brow with his thumb, ignoring the fact that he was holding the pistol in his hand, as he tried to focus on the coffin, wondering what about it had put Marie off as Eurus continued in the background: "So many days not lived, so many words unsaid. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera."

"Yes, yes, yes," Sherlock snapped impatiently and more than a little irritably, "and this – I presume – will be their coffin."

" _Whose_ coffin, Sherlock?" Eurus sighed, looking right at the camera. "Please, start your deductions. I will apply some context in a moment."

Sherlock huffed out a deep sigh, before turning back to the coffin as he began irritably: "Well, allowing for the entirely pointless courtesy of headroom, I'd say this coffin is intended for someone of about five foot six. Makes it more likely to be a woman."

"Not a child?" John checked, standing with his arms crossed over his chest as he also examined the coffin.

Mycroft turned his eyes to the coffin as well, while Sherlock explained: "A child's coffin would have less space on the inside. This one is shaped for a person with a chest size of about thirty, so woman is looking good right now."

John nodded, while Marie closed her eyes and Mycroft's eyes moved to the side of the room as Sherlock continued listing: "However, this coffin is still slightly expensive. Balance of probability suggests that this is for a woman with very few close relatives or friends, but those close relations are very close, they care; that much is suggested by the slightly upscale choice."

Mycroft moved to the side of the room, peering at the coffin lid that had been propped up against the wall, and he picked it up to examine it more closely while Sherlock continued rattling off: "Clearly someone who has been prepared for death, at least for a while. Also, the lining of the coffin-"

"Yes, very good, Sherlock," Mycroft interrupted suddenly, "or we could just look at the name on the lid. Only it isn't a name."

He turned the lid so that they could all see the small golden plaque placed near the upper half of the coffin lid.

Sherlock started forward, but Marie interjected quietly: "You don't have to – you already know."

Sherlock paused, and then he suddenly whirled around to stare at Marie with wide eyes as his mouth fell open in an 'O'. He dropped the gun as he did, the pistol falling to the ground with a clatter, while John asked as he walked over to read the name on the coffin lid: "What do you mean, he already knows…?"

John trailed off as he read the 'name' on the lid, which read: 'I LOVE YOU.'

"I still don't get it." John said, confused as he turned back to Marie. "So, it's for somebody who loves somebody?"

"It's for somebody who loves Sherlock." Mycroft corrected absently.

John's jaw dropped as he, too, finally understood the terrible truth that was staring them in the face. He turned to his friends in absolute horror, but Sherlock and Marie never looked away from each other as they continued to face each other silently, the brunette man tightlipped while the woman's face was filled with grim acceptance.

Only Mycroft seemed to be oblivious as he went on: "This is all about you. Everything here. So who loves you…?"

He trailed off as the penny finally dropped, and Mycroft looked at Marie as he murmured: "Oh."

"Five foot six." Marie listed, her eyes fixed meaningfully on Sherlock. "Chest size thirty; few close relations but the few are people who care deeply; someone who is abnormally prepared for an untimely death…"

She paused, while Sherlock simply stared back at her with growing terror.

"I'm surprised you didn't realize straight away." Marie whispered. "That coffin is for me."

John's eyes were wide as he looked between Sherlock and Marie, worry and uncertainty dominating his expression. The detective himself wasn't looking at anyone else, his blue eyes on Marie only as he shook his head slowly, emphasizing his denial as he murmured as firmly as he could: "No."

But he just looked more shaken than anything as he gazed at Marie almost desperately, and her emerald eyes filled with pain as she could almost see Sherlock's brain whirring as he tried to find a solution to what could only be the inevitable. What Marie had known could only be waiting for her from the moment she'd heard Jim's voice inside the Sherrinford facility.

The only unknown variable now was _how_ Eurus planned to do it.

"This one's easy." Eurus smiled as she leant forward on the camera. "Well, easy for Victoire, perhaps; after all, if my guess is right – and it always is – you've known this was coming didn't you?"

Marie didn't reply, or even make any indication that she'd heard Eurus. The youngest Holmes didn't really care, as she added with inappropriate delight: "As for you, Sherlock, this may be a little more challenging. Again, I ask that you express your distress in words for accuracy in conducting my experiment."

Mycroft turned his head away while John closed his eyes in despair as Sherlock swallowed. Marie just continued to stare at Sherlock grimly as Eurus began once more: "Now, the context."

The screen suddenly split into quadrants, of which three showed live footage of a very familiar – at least to John and Marie – home while the last quadrant in the top right showed a countdown clock, currently fixed at 03:00 minutes.

Sherlock frowned in slight confusion, and Mycroft began: "Where-?"

But Marie interrupted as she explained softly: "That's Molly's house."

Mycroft looked at her sharply while Sherlock stared at the screen as Molly herself appeared on the screen, moving into her kitchen as she looked for something.

The group watched silently, while Eurus explained: "Her flat is rigged to explode in approximately three minutes-"

Marie's eyes flashed while Sherlock pursed his lips, listening intently as Eurus continued casually: "- which will kill your friend, who also just _happens_ to be looking after Dr. Watson's dear baby girl."

John blinked before his arms dropped from where he'd crossed them across his chest, terror gripping his heart as he watched Molly start to prepare baby food on the screen before them, clearly getting ready to feed little Rosie.

Mycroft hung his head while Sherlock's hands curled into tight fists, as Eurus went on casually: "That is, _if_ I hear the code words from both of your lips, Sherlock."

"Both?" Marie asked tightly, and Eurus smiled.

"I've heard marriage is always by halves," Eurus answered, "so I give you _both_ the opportunity to make a choice."

Eurus' eyes and voice sharpened as she asked: "Do you understand, Sherlock? If I hear the code words, I will blow up your friend and Dr. Watson's child."

John flinched, before he was floored as Eurus finished, her voice going completely cold and flat: "And if not, I will shoot Victoire."

Marie glanced at the small, almost invisible hatch on one of the walls, which she had missed until then because it was camouflaged in the same dull grey as the surroundings, and clearly where Eurus would have someone shoot a gun through.

Mycroft raised his head while John gaped and Sherlock glared at the speaker where Eurus's voice was coming from, as Eurus finished softly, almost longingly: "It's your choice now. To say… or to not say."

"Say what?" John asked quietly, but in a deadly tone.

Sherlock closed his eyes, pressing his lips tightly together, while Marie gave John a pained look as Eurus questioned: "Obvious, surely?"

"No." John answered, shaking his head, but Sherlock corrected softly: "Yes."

He turned to look at John, who frowned and glanced at Marie… who was looking at the coffin lid propped up against the wall so they could see the name plaque clearly.

John – and Mycroft – both turned to look, and John fell silent as the reread the words inscribed on the small, golden plaque: 'I LOVE YOU'. Three simple words, but with much more complicated emotions behind them, something Eurus was clearly very aware of.

"Oh, and as an extra incentive, please do keep in mind: the little girl is still on the plane, and growing so terribly frightened." Eurus added casually. "If you lose here, you don't get to call her, Sherlock."

Sherlock's hands curled slightly, as though he were on the verge of clenching them into fists but was trying very hard not to, while Marie's eyes flashed with an emotion that John couldn't quite read in time before it was gone again and replaced with calculative determination.

"Let the test begin." Eurus smiled, and Marie turned to look at Sherlock once more.

The couple's eyes met, green and blue locking onto one another just as the timer started, counting down while Jim's voice whispered loudly in the background: "Tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock…"

"Sherlock…" Mycroft began slowly, glancing at John sympathetically, but Sherlock had eyes only for Marie as he murmured softly but rapidly: "There is no choice; you have to say it."

John bristled slightly, unable to help himself (after all, his _daughter_ was in danger), but Sherlock was still speaking.

"If she's already rigged the flat, Eurus will continue to use Molly and Rosie as bait against us. You'll have died here for nothing – therefore, it only makes sense to eliminate the weakness, Eurus's threat."

Sherlock glanced briefly at John as he finished speaking, his apologetic eyes belying the almost flat tone with which the consulting detective had spoken. Though even his voice wasn't quite like his usual cold, emotionless deductions; Sherlock was far too agitated and alarmed to maintain his usual neutrality. John could easily hear it in Sherlock's voice, and the younger man's eyes had only further confirmed the doctor's conclusions.

For Sherlock's eyes were wild with fear and pain: fear for his wife, for Molly and Rosie, for all of them; and a deep pain as his instincts told him what he already feared to be true but didn't want to admit.

Marie met Sherlock's gaze squarely, her own green eyes filled with a mix of grim apology and firm determination, as she voiced what they both knew: "Sherlock, Eurus is targeting _you_."

Sherlock shook his head, but Marie went on anyway: "She has set the explosives and this trap to eliminate _your_ weakness, not mine or John's or Mycroft's. And we all know your weakness here… is me."

John flinched while Mycroft bowed his head, and the countdown hit 02:26.

Sherlock grasped Marie's shoulders tightly, almost painfully, as he answered frantically: "It might not be."

"But it is."

It was almost eerie how calmly Marie spoke as she listed logically: "If she were targeting all of us, she would not have given a test where you have to make what is – I'm sorry, John – a clear choice. It's not pleasant, but we know you'd choose me over Molly, and even Rosie, if forced to."

Sherlock balked, but he couldn't deny it; Marie was right, it was the harsh but true reality.

"But she gave me a choice as well." Marie went on. "Now, if she was really targeting _our_ weakness, she would have chosen Scott and Sheryl as her threat, and not Molly and Rosie."

John flinched while Sherlock's eyes tightened.

"But she didn't. That means her target is only one person: you."

Marie held Sherlock's gaze steadily, though her voice was starting to sound just a little strained.

"She's here to see _you_ suffer; the rest of us are just tools in that process. And tools are disposable."

Sherlock shook his head slightly, though it was more in despair than denial, and Marie finished: "And I'm the most useful in being disposed; because me leaving like this is going to hurt you the most."

"You're not leaving." Sherlock insisted sharply, and John turned away, unable to look any more, while Marie just smiled a little sadly, her eyes glistening with just the tiniest hint of suppressed tears.

"Oh, Sherlock." Marie sighed as the clock hit 02:02. "I don't think you've ever been so wrong."

The lights in the coffin room turned red, and Jim's face reappeared on the screen as he repeated in that harsh, urgent whisper: "Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock…"

The lights returned to their normal white hues and the screen reverted back to the footage of Molly's flat, where Molly was now moving out of the kitchen.

"John."

John looked over, startled, at Marie's call, to see she was looking right at him now. He couldn't answer, his throat too tight with emotions, so he simply nodded as he met her eyes.

Marie's eyes were clear as she told him: "Don't blame yourself; promise me. This is just my demons finally catching up with me – I'm just glad I can save Rosie in the process. It is in no way your fault."

John couldn't respond to that, and he blinked back the tears that sprang to his eyes at his friend's sacrifice.

He was torn: he would never forgive himself for feeling relieved that Marie had chosen to save Rosie; he hated that Sherlock refused to make the same choice; yet he understood why Sherlock couldn't make that choice; and he pitied Sherlock more than anyone else because John could sympathize all too well with the feeling of losing your wife because she chose to save another over herself.

Because she chose to die saving a friend.

John turned away again, unable to meet Marie's eyes any longer as Sherlock hesitated, struggling with himself, before he repeated in agony: "Marie, _please_ , please. Just say the words."

John tensed, while Marie replied, her voice going sharp with the strain the stressful situation was placing on them: "And let my godchild and friend be blown up into smithereens, like that old woman during your game with Jim? I don't think so."

The lights in the room turned red and Jim Moriarty's face appeared on the screen once more, his voice almost echoing in the deathly silent room.

"Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock…"

The lights turned white again and John glanced at the screen to see Molly smiling as she carried little Rosie into the kitchen, the baby waving her small fists around while she babbled.

He raised his head, unable to bear looking at anything any more, while Mycroft appeared almost unable to look away from his brother as Sherlock's heart was torn apart, little piece by little piece, the closer the countdown got to 0.

And the elder Holmes could only watch the couple silently as his younger brother demanded of Marie: "What about _your_ children? Will you leave them to live the rest of their lives knowing their mother was killed, and I did nothing to stop it?"

Sherlock's voice rose as he became more and more desperate. "Because that is exactly what will happen if you don't let me save you, Marie!"

"I can't." Marie replied, her voice breaking and the tears she'd been forcing herself to hold back started to pool in her eyes. "I… can't, Sherlock. I can't do that to John, and I can't do that to us. If I let Molly and Rosie die because I wanted to live, I'll never be able to forgive myself. I'm sorry, Sherlock; I can't. I-"

"I love you."

Eurus sat up in her chair in the Governor's office while Marie's face filled with pain at Sherlock's quiet, desperate, and honest words.

John's entire frame tensed while Mycroft opened his mouth as though about to say something before he closed it once more and finally turned away, unable to bear the utter heartbreak on his brother's face as Sherlock gazed imploringly at Marie.

Marie's eyes were now shining with tears, but she shook her head slowly as Sherlock begged, his voice cracking: "Tell me; say what you always say back to me."

"Final thirty seconds." Eurus breathed as the timer on the screen displayed the counter; 00:31… 00:30…

"Marie." Sherlock whispered, and Marie lifted herself up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

Sherlock could only remain frozen, fear starting to grip his heart and making his whole body feel like ice as Marie pressed her lips softly against his before leaning back down.

"I can't." She whispered again as she broke herself from Sherlock's grip. And Marie positioned herself before the hatch, and Sherlock's eyes went wide in alarm.

"Marie-" Sherlock began, reaching forward in alarm, but Marie whispered softly: "I love them."

Eurus leant in close to the screen, watching avidly as Sherlock froze and blinked in confusion, all while the counter ticked ever further down.

"Tell the twins that." Marie requested softly, giving Sherlock a small smile. "Tell them for me."

"No." Sherlock said sharply as her words sank in, and his desperation grew as the counter hit 00:13. "No, you tell them. Tell them, like you tell _me_. _Say it,_ Marie, please, don't do this!"

He begged her, his eyes begged her, even as he remained unable to move in sheer fear; but Marie could only stare at him sadly as she whispered: "I won't; you know I won't. You know how I feel anyways."

"Let me hear it. Marie, please don't…" Sherlock rasped in a shaky breath as the countdown hit ten seconds, before he breathed: "Save yourself. Please."

"Sherlock…" Marie sighed, but Sherlock implored, his voice cracking more and more as he started losing the fight to maintain some semblance of control: ""For the twins…"

Marie shook her head, looking pained, but Sherlock requested anyway: "For me."

A tear actually fell down Sherlock's face as he begged, but she stared at him resolutely as the countdown hit two seconds.

" _Marie!_ "

"I'm sorry, Sherlock." Was all Marie could whisper as the countdown hit zero.

Almost instantly, there was a loud bang as a gun was fired from the now open hatch; and blood spurted from Marie's back as the bullet hit its mark.


	34. Appointments in Samarra

"No!" John gasped, unable to hold back the shock at the scene before him. Mycroft averted his gaze sharply, breathing heavily and unable to watch any longer, while Sherlock's lips could only part in horror as blood splattered everywhere.

Marie's eyes had widened infinitesimally, and she looked up at Sherlock with startled green eyes. But as always, he could never read her, even now, and he could only stare numbly as she opened her mouth and began: "Sherlock-"

But before she could say any more, the floor underneath her suddenly dropped, and Marie fell down a secret hatch that had opened beneath her feet.

"Marie!" Sherlock shouted, rushing forward but the hatch closed before he could reach it.

"My God." John whispered, unable to believe what his own eyes had seen. His friend, Marie, gone like that. In an instant. While his best friend Sherlock could only stand and stare at the place through which his wife had disappeared – forever.

Sherlock could only remain frozen, unable to move or even blink, as John and Mycroft stood on each side like grim watch guards.

"Interesting."

John inhaled sharply while Mycroft closed his eyes as Eurus went on from the screen behind them: "I'm always amazed by just how vicious love is as a motivator."

John started at Eurus's words, while Mycroft opened his eyes to observe his brother with genuine sorrow and sympathy. Sherlock didn't even notice, having remained frozen and still staring blankly at the hatch through which Marie had been taken from him.

"Yet you never learn." Eurus went on anyway, sighing. "Love is a chemical defect, I'm always telling you that, but you just never learn."

John shot Eurus a murderous look, while Mycroft finally took a tentative step forward towards Sherlock.

"Sherlock," he murmured in concern, "however difficult this is-"

"Eurus."

Mycroft fell silent while Eurus cocked her head expectantly at Sherlock's call. The detective turned slowly, his face pinched and almost tired in appearance as he held back all of the emotions raging inside to say stiffly: "The girl on the plane – I need to talk to her."

Eurus just stared back at Sherlock silently, sitting back in her chair, and he demanded impatiently and sharply: "Ma-"

His voice caught slightly and he corrected quickly: " _I_ saved Molly Hooper and Rosie Watson; I won your test. Now play fair, and let me talk to the girl."

Eurus made a noise in the back of her throat before she leant forward in her chair, her face coming in close to the camera to show her deranged eyes as she repeated contemptuously: "Saved her?"

Sherlock frowned, as did John, while Eurus went on scathingly: "From what?"

Sherlock froze while Mycroft tilted his head back in terrible understanding as Eurus said impatiently: "Oh, do be sensible. There were no explosives in her little house. Why would I be so clumsy?"

John's jaw dropped, while Mycroft turned away in anger, as Eurus spelt it out for Sherlock in the cruelest way possible: "You _didn't_ win anything. You lost."

Sherlock's eye twitched, but he seemed otherwise unable to move as he stared blankly at Eurus as she mocked: "Look what she did to you. Look what you did to _yourself_."

Sherlock turned his head sharply, exhaling through his nose as Eurus continued: "The roads you two walked had demons beneath them, but in the end it wasn't the demons you should have been afraid of, Sherlock."

John's hands had curled into fists, his knuckles going so white the bone seemed almost about to tear through his skin he was clutching his fists so tightly, as Eurus sniffed: "All those complicated little emotions. I lost count. 'Emotional context', Sherlock."

Sherlock had turned away completely now, walking stiffly back to the side of the coffin, and he stared almost expressionlessly at the sleek wood as Eurus finished: "It destroys you _every_ time."

Sherlock had moved on passed the coffin, going to stare at the lid still leaning against the far wall, and Eurus sat back in her chair once more.

"Now, please, pull yourself together." She stated, emotionless but with maybe a hint of boredom that made John clench his fists so tightly he drew blood. "I need you at peak efficiency for the next one."

The next door slid open on the far side of the room they were in, but only Mycroft glanced at the opening as Eurus added almost casually: "In your own time."

She disappeared from the screen, but again only Mycroft noticed. John was staring silently at Sherlock, who was standing stiffly before the coffin lid as he stared at the nameplate where the three simple words were engraved in mockingly beautiful polished gold.

The trio stood in silence for a moment, neither John nor Mycroft daring to break it while Sherlock remained stiff and clearly on the edge of breaking himself.

Finally, it seemed Sherlock regained control of himself as he moved – albeit stiffly – and turned back to the coffin lid.

Mycroft turned away as well, grimly satisfied that his brother had apparently managed to power through, and John began to follow Mycroft out of the room in similar though mixed feelings. After all, he knew too well how it felt to lose the woman you loved, to watch her slip away right before your eyes – and it wasn't the type of pain you could clamp down on and suppress.

He'd learnt that the hard way.

Sherlock meanwhile had grabbed the coffin lid, moving to place it neatly but firmly in its place atop the coffin. John and Mycroft paused in the doorway, watching Sherlock quietly as the tall brunette man stopped and rested his hand atop the lid. Running his fingers along the smooth wood, Sherlock stared at the closed coffin, especially at the words inscribed on the nameplate.

But as he stared at it, Sherlock suddenly hunched forward, swallowing heavily before lowering his eyes and bowing his head slightly over the coffin. His breathing hitched, and John's jaw tightened in sympathy as he heard what sounded almost like a soft sob.

"Sherlock?" John called tentatively, worriedly, and Sherlock muttered: "No."

He drew in a deep breath, even as he staggered a little back from the coffin, and he muttered again: "No."

Sherlock's eyes fell back on the coffin, and his face twisted with absolute fury and utter despair before he shouted: "No!"

All the emotions he'd been trying to hold back, hold in check, came pouring out, and John and Mycroft just watched in silence as Sherlock abruptly smashed his right fist down onto the coffin lid. The wood shattered instantly under the raw emotion behind the swing, but it wasn't enough.

The sorrow of losing Marie, the rage at learning her death was for nothing, and the all-consuming pain in his heart and very body drove Sherlock almost mad. He began to tear at the coffin, piece by splintered piece while he fought tooth and nail to smash the hated box into the tiniest pieces that he could.

He even went as far as lifting the entire coffin and smashing it back down on its legs, repeating the action in an almost desperate attempt to destroy the coffin that seemed to mock him; his wife's death, and his own ineptitude in preventing it.

But the more he destroyed, the more wound up he felt, and contrary to feeling better, it was as though the anguish that was consuming him from the inside was only getting stronger with each passing second.

Finally, unable to take it any more, Sherlock threw his head back as he let out a long, tortured scream that echoed around the entire cell and seemed to resonate throughout the entire island.

It was a sound that made Mycroft flinch slightly, while John could only bow his head at the depth of the pain in Sherlock's heart that was conveyed in that single yet terrible cry to the heavens.

* * *

 _Some time later_

John finally walked across the cell, his steps slow and measured even as he avoided all the splinters of wood scattered wildly across the floor.

He paused, leaning down to pick up the pistol where it lay on the ground exactly as Sherlock had left it after dropping it. John straightened up once more, clearing his throat before walking on to where Sherlock sat against the far wall.

Sherlock's legs were curled up before him, his wrists resting on his knees, and his head bowed while he stared blankly at the ground before him. His breathing was still laboured, and his face was like nothing John had seen before on his best friend.

John had seen Sherlock pretend to be distraught, pretend to be angry; he'd even seen Sherlock actually furious, and seen Sherlock kill someone. But this, John had never seen. Sherlock sat with the expression of a man who had watched his entire world crash before him, leaving him with absolutely nothing, not even hope – and, in many ways, that was exactly what he had experienced.

Sherlock didn't move, nor did he make any sign of hearing John's approach as the doctor stopped at last before his friend.

"Look," John began quietly but firmly, "I know this is difficult – believe me, no-one knows better than I do how you're feeling right now. It's obvious you're being tortured on purpose; but you have _got_ to keep it together."

John paused, deliberating on whether to mention Marie, or even the twins, or not, in order to get Sherlock to move; but he didn't need to.

Sherlock responded instantly, though he didn't raise his head as he said flatly: "This isn't torture; this is vivisection. We're experiencing science from the perspective of lab rats."

Sherlock took a deep breath, exhaling sharply before he finally lifted his head. He leant it back, however, resting his head against the wall behind him as he stared unseeingly up at the ceiling.

Mycroft watched worriedly from his place still in the open doorway, while John hesitated. He knew too well that very little could comfort Sherlock right now, and the wrong words or misplaced sympathy could easily tip Sherlock back over to the self-destructive tendencies that both he and John clearly suffered from.

Ultimately, however, it was Mycroft who spoke first.

"Sherlock, Marie wouldn't want you to linger." Mycroft murmured at last, when the silence became too much.

"And you would know?" Sherlock bit back tightly, the tension returning to his body, but Mycroft answered seriously: "Yes."

Sherlock glanced sharply at his brother, but Mycroft met his younger brother's agonized gaze evenly as he stated flatly, but with a soft note of pity: "Marie asked me for a request some time ago, shortly before you solved the incident with the Thatcher busts."

John frowned in confusion, but Sherlock showed no reaction as he listened stonily to Mycroft as the oldest Holmes went on with a sigh: "Naturally, I don't usually do favours that don't promise me anything in return – however, I made an exception for her this one time because she made the request on your behalf."

"And what was it she asked for?" Sherlock asked, each word distinct as his blue eyes burnt a hole into Mycroft's.

"She asked me to look out for you, and for Scott and Sheryl, should anything happen to her."

Sherlock froze, his breath catching, as Mycroft went on: "She asked that I save you from yourself if Moriarty's ghost ever came back for her, so that you and her children would be safe even when she was gone."

At the last word, Sherlock's hand twitched, but Mycroft pretended not to notice as he ploughed on: "And finally, she asked that I pass on a posthumous message, should the need ever arise."

Mycroft's icy blue eyes were a tad softer, a hint of sympathy and pity in them as he stared at his younger brother while he informed Sherlock grimly: "This is me, honoring that request: 'Tell Sherlock,' she said, 'that I'll always love him… and that I will always believe in Sherlock Holmes.'."

Sherlock's eyes widened before narrowing instantly as he fought the pain that threatened to crush his heart.

Mycroft paused, letting Sherlock have a moment to process what he'd said, before he finished firmly: "She trusted that you would always do the right thing. And right now, we _must_ move on – we cannot linger here. She wouldn't want it."

John stayed silent, simply watching, as Sherlock stared his brother down for another beat or two.

Finally, Sherlock swallowed and looked away from Mycroft, who nodded once in grim satisfaction as the younger brother took a shaky breath.

After another beat, Sherlock looked at John, still standing stoically beside him, and he asked softly: "Soldiers?"

"Soldiers." John agreed with a sigh, but a firm nod.

He also felt some relief when he held out his right hand to Sherlock, and the younger male took the offered hand in his own. It seemed Sherlock had steeled himself once more, pushed on by Marie's faith in him even in death. Again, it was something John could relate to, and he knew Sherlock would heal to some degree, given time.

Although, whether he would get that time was still rather doubtful.

As John helped Sherlock to his feet, and the detective buttoned up his suit jacket once more as they started to walk towards the doorway and Mycroft, he held out the pistol silently.

Sherlock took the offered gun silently, no words needing to be exchanged between them, any of them, as Sherlock walked passed Mycroft while the lights all around them turned red once more as Jim's voice chirped blithely over the speakers: "Tick-tock, tickets please!"

Sherlock's step almost faltered just once, before he quickly regained his swift gait. Both John and Mycroft pretended not to have seen Sherlock's momentary slip, instead opting to steel their own nerves against whatever Eurus might have planned for them next.

The trio soon found themselves in yet another grey-walled cell, the white lights creating no shadows in the completely empty room. Sherlock's eyes flickered around the cell, taking in the currently blank screens on each of three of the four walls, and the large white rectangular area in the middle of the room.

"Hey, sis," Sherlock called sarcastically and with more than a hint of a bite in his words, "don't mean to complain but this one's empty. What happened? Did you run out of ideas?"

The screens flickered to life, showing Eurus once more as she sat in the Governor's office, while also looking completely unaffected by the fact that Sherlock was now gazing at her so coldly it was a wonder the screen didn't freeze over.

In fact, Eurus's tone didn't even change from that strange mix of childish inquisitiveness and psychopathic apathy as she informed her elder brother: "It's not empty, Sherlock. You've still got the gun, haven't you?"

Sherlock frowned, glancing at the pistol in his hand, before he looked up sharply as Eurus went on: "I _told_ you you'd need it; the countdown has begun."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, while Eurus smiled brightly at him as she said with a chirpiness that was very mismatched with the horrifying words coming out of her mouth: "From here, only two can play the next game. Just two of you go on from here; your choice."

Mycroft frowned, while Eurus went on: "So, whose help do you need the most – John or Mycroft?"

John and Mycroft glanced at each other, still shocked despite the fact that they had suspected what might follow Eurus's words.

John grimaced as he turned away once more, while Eurus continued lightly: "It's an elimination round this time. You choose one, and kill the other."

Sherlock was still standing on the far side of the room from the other two men, the three in a loose triangular formation around the white panel in the center, where he had been facing Eurus's screen.

Now, he turned to face his brother and his best friend, as Eurus finished: "This time, it all rides on you; _you_ have to choose: family or friend? Mycroft or John Watson?"

The lights in the room switched to red once more, as Jim's face appeared on the screens, the man's head tilting from side to side in a terrifyingly mocking motion while he repeated: "Tick-tick-tick-tick..."

"Eurus, enough!" Mycroft snapped sharply, his voice tight and stern with anger, but Eurus answered almost innocently as the lights in the cell turned back to white: "Not yet, I think."

She smiled again, looking like a happy child as she added: "But nearly."

John's hand had curled into a fist as he met Sherlock's gaze evenly while Eurus reminded them: "Remember, there's a plane in the sky, and it's not going to land. I hope you earn a phone call this round, Sherlock."

Sherlock made no reaction to her jibe, and his face was almost unreadable as he looked at the other two. John was looking conflicted, torn by the many emotions that warred inside of him and demanded his attention: horror, anger, dismay, pain, and doubt.

Mycroft, however, ran his hands down his face before stepping forwards towards Sherlock as he asked flatly: "Well?"

"Well, what?" Sherlock asked with a frown as he examined his brother, while Mycroft asked dismissively: "We're not actually going to discuss this, are we?"

He looked to John as he added: "I'm sorry, Dr. Watson. You're a fine man in many respects."

John frowned at that, while Mycroft turned back to Sherlock as he finished carelessly: "Make your goodbyes and shoot him."

*A/N Eek! I'm sorry about this and the last chapter!


	35. Fourth Test

There was dead silence for a moment. Mycroft stared at Sherlock for a few seconds, and as Sherlock remained unmoving and simply staring back at him, Mycroft ordered more firmly: " _Shoot_ him."

"What?" John demanded, stepping closer to Mycroft incredulously. He had to be joking… right?

Mycroft barely spared him a glance before he turned back to Sherlock as he stated: "Shoot Dr. Watson. There's no question who has to continue from here. It's us; you and me."

Sherlock's head cocked just slightly, while Mycroft went on coldly: "Whatever lies ahead requires brainpower, Sherlock, not sentiment. I would have thought the last round made that very clear. Now, don't prolong his agony; shoot him."

"Do I get a say in this?" John interjected, his voice quiet but pointed as he stared at Mycroft.

The eldest Holmes turned to face John properly as he pointed out: "Today, we are soldiers. Soldiers die for their country."

Mycroft gave John a level look while Sherlock continued to watch him silently with narrowed eyes, and Mycroft finished blandly: "I regret, Dr. Watson, that privilege is now yours."

John's eyes were dark and his jaw locked, and he muttered: "Shit."

However, exhaling sharply, John turned to face Sherlock as he murmured: "He's right."

Sherlock turned his gaze on John, his expression unreadable, while John repeated more firmly: "He _is_ , in fact, right."

"No, he's not." Sherlock sighed, moving at last as he closed his eyes, and Mycroft snapped sharply: "Oh, God! I should have expected this."

He slid one hand into his trouser pocket as he snarled viciously: "Pathetic. You always _were_ the slow one, the idiot."

Sherlock opened his eyes, raising a brow slightly, though he didn't quite meet Mycroft's eyes as the elder brother spat: "That's why I've always despised you. You shame us all. You shame the family name. Now, for once in your life, do the right thing."

"Stop." Sherlock said quietly, but Mycroft just nodded at John as he ordered coldly: "Put this stupid little man out of all our misery."

John bit his lip to keep his emotions in check, though he was unable to look at Sherlock as he braced himself while Mycroft continued darkly: "You have your children to think of, don't you? You need to make it back home, and you think you'll get out of here with _him_? What is he, really?"

John grimaced as Mycroft spat: "Nothing more than a distraction; a little scrap of ordinariness for you to impress. He cost you Marie; are you going to let him cost you your life and leave your children without parents?"

"Please," Sherlock said quietly in a tired and pained voice, "for God's sake, just stop it."

"Why?" Mycroft challenged, and Sherlock finally met his brother's eyes as he answered quietly: "Because, on balance, even your Lady Bracknell was more convincing."

Mycroft blinked, raising his brows in some measured surprise even as his face lost all of its coldness to be filled with disappointment. Sherlock meanwhile turned towards John, though his gaze was lowered as he informed the blond man: "Ignore everything he just said; he's being kind. He's trying to make it easy for me to kill him."

John's head turned to look at Mycroft in shock, while Mycroft just sighed before he smiled ruefully at his brother.

"Well?" Mycroft asked, this time his tone soft, and Sherlock answered grimly: "It just made this so much harder."

With that, Sherlock turned to face his brother once more as he raised the pistol in his hand and pointed it right at Mycroft.

Eurus sat up in her chair, watching avidly, while Mycroft commented offhandedly: "You said you _liked_ my Lady Bracknell."

"Sherlock." John whispered, unable to believe his eyes and unable to move a muscle due to the pure shock and horror of what he was watching. "Don't."

"It's not your decision, Dr. Watson." Mycroft answered gently as he glanced at John.

John shot him an incredulous look, but Mycroft had turned back to his brother as he added: "Not in the face, though, please. I've promised my brain to the Royal Society."

Sherlock closed his eyes again momentarily, his brows knitting, before he asked in a tight voice as he looked at his brother once more: "Where would you suggest?"

"Well..." Mycroft answered bravely as he started to fix the top buttons of his shirt. "I suppose there is a heart _somewhere_ inside me."

He began to tug on his tie, straightening it as well, and he added as he glanced down at his own chest: "I don't imagine it's much of a target but…"

Sherlock gave a pained smile that looked more like a grimace as he fought the anguish constricting his own heart while Mycroft finished lightly: "Why don't we try for that?"

John shook his head, finally breaking out of his frozen state as he walked forwards, holding his hand out to stop Sherlock as he stated firmly: "I won't allow this."

He looked between the two brothers while Sherlock continued to look conflicted but Mycroft replied seriously to John: "This is my fault."

He turned his eyes back to Sherlock as he added: "Marie's death was my fault."

Sherlock cocked his head slightly in confusion, and Mycroft admitted: "Moriarty."

"Moriarty?" Sherlock repeated, his confusion only growing, and Mycroft explained grimly: "Her Christmas treat," he nodded once at Eurus, "five minutes' conversation with Jim Moriarty five years ago."

"What did they discuss?" Sherlock asked, lowering the gun slightly as he stared at his brother intently.

Mycroft's expression was grim and almost apologetic as he revealed: "Five minutes' conversation..."

Sherlock's gun arm dropped, his limbs faltering and his eyes blinking rapidly as he realized what his brother was going to say before Mycroft even said it, his gaze lowering in shame: "… Unsupervised."

John's jaw dropped, and he physically reeled back slightly at Mycroft's admission. Mycroft could only stare at the ground like a child awaiting punishment, while Sherlock stared at his older brother in absolute shock.

As Sherlock stared at Mycroft, Eurus finally piped up in a breathless tone: "Jim Moriarty told me about her, you know; about his pet, Victoire. He really was quite proud of her in some ways. But _I_ was the one who predicted you would fall in love with her – you're so predictable in that way, Sherlock."

Sherlock's hand twitched slightly, while Eurus finished: "Your emotions make you very easy to read. Jim Moriarty and I knew you would fail to save Victoire. And we knew this would be your ultimate choice."

The screen switched to another recorded clip of Jim as he narrated: "And here we are, at the end of the line. Holmes killing Holmes."

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably, almost sheepishly, while Sherlock's gaze changed. His blue eyes narrowed slightly, becoming pensive, while Jim continued mockingly on the screens: "This is where I get off."

Jim smiled widely, before he disappeared and the lights turned white once more as Eurus reappeared on the screens.

"Five minutes." Sherlock said slowly as he looked right at his brother. "It took Eurus just _five minutes_ to do all of this to us, to take Marie from me..."

Sherlock trailed off suddenly, and Mycroft looked at Sherlock in confusion, as Sherlock remained standing still with his gun hand hanging loosely by his side.

"Marie knew this was going to happen." Sherlock muttered abruptly, sounding like he was talking more to himself than to anyone in particular.

"She _knew_ – that's why she wasn't surprised to hear there was only one bullet left in the gun. Marie knew Moriarty well enough that when she realized he'd been complicit in this trap, she guessed that Eurus would find a way to take her out of the picture first. It's so obvious, now."

Sherlock pursed his lips in thought as he stared at his brother while Mycroft frowned and exchanged bewildered looks with John.

John turned back to Sherlock as the taller man went on: "Eurus is right; I have been too clouded by my emotions. This is why I called emotion the crack in the lens – my choices were predicted over _five_ years before I made them…"

Sherlock trailed off again, apparently falling in deep thought.

John and Mycroft exchanged more looks, while Eurus called: "Sherlock? Are you ready? Or do I have to give you a time limit again?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, and he said quietly: "But that is only when you look at emotions logically."

Mycroft blinked, actually puzzled, while John faced Sherlock with a deep frown as Sherlock straightened determinedly.

"What are you doing?" Eurus asked, also frowning at Sherlock's unexpected and as yet mysterious resolve.

"It's something you said yourself." Sherlock replied flatly. "And you were almost right. But where you're wrong, what you underestimate - you, who do not feel emotions, and therefore cannot possibly understand them - is that love is not only a vicious motivator, but also a powerful one."

Mycroft was starting to look alarmed at this point, while John's frown deepened and Eurus's eyes narrowed.

Sherlock just turned away from Eurus, looking back to his brother and his best friend as he finished: "And it can give you the insight you need when logic fails."

Before his words could fully sink in with the others, Sherlock lifted the pistol with both his hands. And pressed the end of the muzzle right under his own chin.

"Ten..." He counted calmly.

John's jaw fell slack for the hundredth time that day while Mycroft's eyes widened. The pair exchanged looks once more while Eurus frowned, and she said quickly: "No, no, Sherlock."

"Nine..." Sherlock continued, ignoring her and the dual looks of sheer horror on Mycroft and John's faces.

"Sherlock!" Eurus exclaimed, but he carried on steadily: "Eight..."

"You can't!" Eurus shouted, looking alarmed for the first time since they'd met her.

But Sherlock ignored her yet again as he simply went on: "Seven…"

"You don't know about Redbeard yet." Eurus offered, and John shot her an incredulous look. Did she honestly think that bringing up an old mystery would stop Sherlock, rather than mentioning the twins or something?

The answer stared him right in the face, in _Eurus's_ face: yes, she did think that. No, she hadn't even thought of Sherlock's children – because Sherlock was right. Eurus had no idea how love worked; she had no idea the extents one would go to save those he or she loved. Especially a man who had already lost the woman he loved.

"Six…" Sherlock counted.

"Sherlock!" Eurus cried, but Sherlock simply dropped his left hand, holding the pistol steadily against his chin with only his right as he said flatly: "Five…"

"Sherlock, stop that at once!" Eurus screamed, actually panicking.

As she spoke, a small dart flew out of a small round hole hidden in the shadows of the cell wall, imbedding itself in the base of Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock jumped slightly at the sudden prick, and his left hand reached back to grab the dart even as he counted: "Four…"

Another dart shot John in the back of his neck, and the blond man reached for the dart as well as Sherlock pulled out the dart in his own neck.

"Three…" Sherlock counted as he stared at the tiny dart in his hand, his words slowing, his limbs began to loose feeling and his mind beginning to fog as the effects of the tranquilizer settled in.

Another dart hit Mycroft, just as John started to sway on his feet.

"Two…" Sherlock mumbled, barely getting the words out as his vision began to tunnel and he started to lose consciousness.

His body fell backwards, the gun falling from his hand with a clatter that sounded faint and distant to his ears. Sherlock's eyes drifted shut as he fell back, and he lost himself to the darkness that engulfed him before his body could even hit the ground.

* * *

 _Some time later_

"Hello?"

Sherlock woke up abruptly, jerking to life to find himself sprawled across a wooden, rectangular dining table of sorts.

The table had four chairs, two on each longitudinal side, that looked old but clean and unused. There was nothing else in the dark grey, almost black room he was now in, and he also appeared to be alone. There were no lights either, just a grated skylight on the ceiling that allowed enough of the dim light of the moon into the room to allow Sherlock to see.

"Hello?" The faint, young girl's voice called again, and Sherlock realized belatedly that it was the voice of the little girl from the plane, and that he was hearing her through an earpiece that was somehow in his ear.

He groaned but struggled to get up, when a heavy rustling made him look down to see that someone had also dressed him in his long, detective overcoat.

"Are you still there?" The girl called, and Sherlock answered with a suppressed groan: "Yes. Yeah; no, I'm-I'm still here. I'm here."

He pushed himself heavily onto his knees atop the table, while the girl accused tearfully: "You went away. You said you'd help me, and you went away."

"Yes, I know." Sherlock answered as soothingly as he could, still struggling to get himself fully up. If only this girl knew what he'd had to go through since their last phone call... then again, probably best she didn't know. "Well, I'm sorry about that. We-we-we must have got cut off. Um…"

Sherlock looked around the room, blinking and trying to focus, while still sounding coherent to the poor, terrified child stuck on the crashing plane.

"How-how-how long was I away?" Sherlock inquired abruptly, though he barely managed to get the words out.

"Hours." The little girl responded, and Sherlock's heart dropped. That long? Not only was the little girl in increasingly greater danger, but Sherlock was now also incredibly concerned as to what might have happened to John and Mycroft.

"Hours and hours." The little went on, unaware of Sherlock's panic. "Why don't grown-ups tell the truth?"

"No," Sherlock said quickly, "I-I _am_ telling the truth. You can trust me."

"Where did you go?" The girl asked, still sounding skeptical, and Sherlock looked up at the skylight and the full moon beyond.

"I'm not completely sure." Sherlock admitted as he slowly slid himself to the edge of the table, sitting on the edge for a moment to take another look around at his surroundings.

"Um, now, I tell you what." Sherlock began, trying to keep his tone soothing and comforting as he slowly and finally got to his feet. "You-you've got to be really, really brave for me."

Sherlock bent down, picking up a lantern that had been placed slightly under the table and holding it up so he could better see where he was while saying to the little girl: "Can you go to the front of the plane? Can you do that?"

"The front?" The girl repeated, and Sherlock answered: "Yes, that's right… the front."

He faltered just slightly as he raised the lantern to the far wall of the room, only to find the entire wall covered in hundreds of photographs, all of Sherlock as a child. Some were from afar, others of his head; some were so close up they only really showed his eyes, and some were even torn and ripped in places. But they all appeared to be from around the time that Eurus was presumably taken away, when she killed Redbeard.

"You mean where the driver is?" The little girl's voice broke into Sherlock's thoughts, and he answered as calmly as he could as he walked slowly along the wall of his pictures: "Yes, that's it."

"Okay." The little girl answered, her voice shaky but clearly trying to be brave. "I'm going."

There was silence on her end for a while, and Sherlock used the moment to examine more of the photos on the wall. The further he went along it, the more there were of when he was a little older, outgrowing his pirate phase and into his young adolescent years.

These pictures were also punctuated with various photographs of the Holmes family – sans Eurus, naturally – at different moments in their lives, culminating with (and Sherlock's blood ran cold) a photograph of himself and Marie with their newborn children, which Molly had taken during the baby shower/announcement party at their flat.

The photograph invoked alarm, as Sherlock worried for the safety of his children, and a stab of pain in his chest, as Sherlock gazed at Marie's smiling face on the paper.

Needing something to distract him from the pain, Sherlock called into his earpiece: "Are you there yet?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

Sherlock started as John's voice replied in his ear, and he called in a mix of relief and confusion: "John!"

There was a small splash from John's end of the comms, before Sherlock heard John give a surprised yelp while someone else groaned both beside John and in Sherlock's earpiece.

"John?" The other, groggy voice asked over his earpiece, sounding half-awake.

Sherlock's heart stopped for a beat, before it began racing wildly even as he asked in a mix of surprise and sheer hope: "Marie?"

*A/N And there's the twist you were all hoping for (hopefully)!


	36. Demons

"Sherlock?" Marie's voice asked, sounding weak and drowsy.

Sherlock could hardly believe he was hearing _her_ voice again, that she was still alive.

"Marie, is that you?" Sherlock asked, needing reassurance, and she groaned: "Where am I?"

"Marie – oh, hang on, you're absolutely soaked through!" John's voice gasped over the comms. "Marie! Hang in there; dammit, you shouldn't be in the cold like this after you've been shot!"

Sherlock clutched the lantern tightly in his hand as he paused in his movements along the wall of his new cell, waiting anxiously as Marie mumbled: "Oh… I thought it was kind of cold."

"Marie? Marie, what's wrong?" John asked, his voice concerned, and Sherlock frowned. He had to agree with John – something wasn't right with Marie. And he meant more than being shot, which itself was strange.

Sherlock had _seen_ where the bullet had hit, and it should have been a fatal wound. Yet, she was clearly alive, and didn't even seem to be dying just strangely faint. What could this all mean? What was Eurus playing at?

"Marie, hey, can you look at me?" John was asking, but Marie just groaned: "My head…"

' _Her_ head _? Not her back?_ ' Sherlock thought, becoming more and more bewildered.

"John?" Sherlock called at last, and John answered: "Yeah?"

"Where are you and Marie?" Sherlock demanded, deciding he needed to figure out where John and Marie were, fast. "And is she okay?"

"I don't know." John admitted. "I don't know where we are – I just woke up, and found Marie when I accidentally splashed water on her. Marie's… I don't think she's good."

Sherlock's hands, if possible, tightened even more around the lantern's handgrip while John said to Marie: "Marie, were you shot? Tell me what hurts."

"Nothing hurts." Marie groaned, sounding like she was about to be sick but also sounding unusually lethargic. "And I was shot, but… not shot."

"Marie?" John asked in confusion, while Sherlock also frowned.

' _Marie?_ ' He wondered, while Marie explained, sounding almost drunk: "It wasn't… real. The bullet was loaded with blood, that exploded when it hit me to trick me into thinking I was dead."

"Trick _you_?" John repeated, and Marie hummed: "Mhm…"

"Did you mean trick _me_?" Sherlock interjected, and Marie asked: "Where are you, Sherlock? Why d'you sound funny?"

"Marie… it's an earpiece." Sherlock said slowly, and Marie answered in a surprised tone: "Really? When'd you go away?"

"John, what's wrong with her?" Sherlock asked, anxiety starting to seep in, and John admitted: "I don't know, it's too dark for me to see her properly. I think she might be suffering from shock, or maybe she was under the tranquiliser for too long… Where are you? Do you think you can come find us?"

"I don't know." Sherlock answered grimly as he glanced around the sealed room he was in. "I'm in another cell. I did just speak to the girl on the plane again, though – apparently we've been out for hours."

"What, she's still up there?" John asked in alarm, and Sherlock explained briefly: "Yes - the plane will keep flying until it runs out of fuel."

John looked around the dark room – well, he thought it was a room – he was trapped in, trying to peer through the darkness. There was a light coming from the opening at what John presumed to be the ceiling, but it was dim as though it was the moon's beams trying to shine from behind grey clouds and did nothing to help his vision.

John himself was kneeling before Marie, trying to examine her while also trying to figure out where they were. All he could tell was that he was in a circular area of sorts, and for some reason there was water all along the floor, coming up to his mid-thighs when he was standing upright.

He wouldn't have been too concerned with the water, if it weren't for the fact that Marie was drenched from having been sitting in the water, leaning against the wall. Moreover, what was very worrying John was that Marie didn't even seem to notice how cold she had to be feeling – did that mean she had been in the water for so long she'd become numb to the cold?

"Is Mycroft with you?" Sherlock's voice asked over his earpiece, and John answered as he glanced around wherever he was trapped inside: "I have no idea. I can hardly see anything."

John straightened as he called tentatively: "Mycroft? Mycroft?"

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly as he heard no reply nor any sign from John that Mycroft was nearby. He had to believe nothing had happened to his elder brother (ironic, considering how many times he'd wished Mycroft would disappear sometimes); after all, if Marie was still alive, there was still hope that-

"Why're you calling for Mycroft?" Marie piped up, sounding strange. "That's not like you – you don't normally like him."

"Er, yeah…" John said slowly. "Listen, Marie, are you sure you're okay?"

"What's 'okay' mean?" Marie asked lazily, and Sherlock's frown deepened. "Does 'okay' mean I'm not feeling any pain? Or does it mean, do I feel that I'm still alive? Although, that's a trick question, because how do we really know if we're alive and not dead-?"

"Are you feeling any pain? Yes or no." John tried, cutting across Marie's strange and slurred rambling, and Marie answered: "No."

"Okay, good." John replied, when Marie added in a sleepy tone: "I'm not really feeling anything, though."

That made John pause, when Sherlock suddenly asked: "Marie, can you tell me where you are?"

"I don't know…" Marie answered slowly, sounding… almost stupid. "It looks all kind of… hazy…"

Sherlock's chest constricted, and he felt like he might choke – no, it couldn't be. Eurus didn't… _Moriarty_ didn't…

It seemed John was thinking along the same lines as he asked slowly and with a voice filled with worry: "Sherlock, you don't think she's been-?"

"John, tell me anything you can about where you are." Sherlock ordered, interrupting John as he himself moved around his cell once more, trying to find a way out.

"What?" John asked, and Sherlock explained quickly and anxiously: "I'll need details to find you and Marie."

"Right." John answered, catching on.

He stood up, leaving Marie for the moment though he kept a close eye on her shadowy figure as she leant heavily against the wall. John felt along the walls and reported to Sherlock: "The walls are… rough; they're rock, I guess."

"What are you standing on?" Sherlock asked as he moved about the edges of his own cell, glancing at the photographs that were pasted along the walls as he went.

"Uh, stone, I think." John answered. "But listen: there's about two feet of water."

John made to move forward, when something pulled his foot up short, and John paused as he recognized the feeling of the metal around his feet.

"Chains." John murmured in shock, before he shook his head firmly to clear it.

"Yeah, my feet are chained up." John relayed to Sherlock, his voice strong once more as he forced himself to remain calm and keep his tone neutral.

He bent down to check the chains, when his hand closed around something else and John informed Sherlock: "I can feel something."

"Marie, you still awake?" Sherlock checked as he waited for John to respond, and Marie asked sleepily: "Hmm?"

"Marie, I love you." Sherlock said impulsively, and Marie answered, her tone still tired but sounding a little brighter: "I love you, too, Sherlock."

His suspicions almost fully confirmed, Sherlock closed his eyes in pain. But he reopened them as John said quietly: "Sherlock, I've found something."

"What is it?" Sherlock asked instantly, picking up instantly on the fearful note in John's voice.

"Bones, Sherlock."

Sherlock stopped walking, blinking in shock at John's quiet announcement.

But then his eyes caught sight of something underneath the table in the middle of his cell, and Sherlock knelt down to examine the object closer as John reiterated: "There are bones in here."

"What kind of bones?" Sherlock asked numbly as he placed down his lantern and reached for the round, ceramic bowl that was sitting under the dining table.

"Uh, I dunno. S-small." John answered hesitantly, not quite sure how to describe the small bones he could feel in his hands.

Sherlock meanwhile lifted the ceramic bowl in both hands, staring dazedly at the name painted in red along the side of the dog's water bowl: 'Redbeard'.

"Redbeard." Sherlock whispered, his heart tugging painfully.

"Who's Redbeard?"

Sherlock started slightly at the little girl's question.

Realizing his communication link must have been switched back to the girl's, Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, sinking his face into his right hand as he said with forced lightness: "Oh, hello. Are you at the front of the plane now?"

It was getting to be too much – the little girl; John and Mycroft; Marie's rise from being supposedly dead, only to find she was hurt (far more than she currently realized); and now Redbeard's ghost returning to haunt him. All because of Eurus's little games.

Sherlock took a deep breath while the girl replied shakily: "Yeah. I still can't wake the driver up."

"That's all right." Sherlock answered, keeping his tone forcefully gentle even as he rested his head against his hand. "What can you see now?"

"I can see a river." The little girl answered fearfully. "And there's-there's-there's a big wheel."

"All right." Sherlock answered, suppressing a sigh. This was not good.

However, he tried to keep his tone soothing as he said: "Well, you and I are going to have to drive this plane together." Sherlock glanced up at the sky, and he slowly got back to his feet. "Just you and me."

"We are?" The little girl asked, her voice small and fill of fear, but Sherlock feigned confidence as he answered reassuringly: "Yeah, there's nothing to it. We just need to get in touch with some people on the ground."

He retrieved his lantern, before starting to pace the cell again as he asked: "Now, um, can you see anything that looks like a radio?"

There was a slight pause, before the little girl replied shakily: "No."

She sounded on the brink of hysteria, and Sherlock said quickly and gently: "That's all right. Well, we... keep looking. We've got plenty of time."

The girl suddenly let out a terrified yelp, and Sherlock asked instantly: "What's wrong?"

"The whole plane's shaking." The little girl answered, sounding close to tears once more, and Sherlock grimaced. Definitely not good – it appeared the plane was starting to run out of fuel, and it was heading right for the Thames and the London Eye.

However, he tried to keep his voice free of his fear as he said calmly: "It's just turbulence. It's nothing to worry about."

"My ears hurt." The little girl sobbed, but Sherlock pretended not to hear her as he asked lightly: "Does the river look like it's getting closer?"

"A-a little bit." The girl answered shakily, and Sherlock said with forced reassurance: "All right, then. That means you're nearly home."

It most certainly was _not_ all right; she was going to _crash_ home, Sherlock knew, if they didn't do something fast.

He placed his hand over his face, fighting the migraine and the absolute fear in his chest, only for the feeling to intensify when John's voice called over the earpiece once more: "Sherlock?"

"John? How are you and Marie?" Sherlock asked instantly, and John replied, sounding strange: "We're still all right… for now. But Sherlock; I've figured out where we are."

Sherlock lifted his head from his hand, surprised and hopeful but also afraid and apprehensive at John's tone.

In his prison, John stared up above where he could see the night sky and the full moon peaking out from behind the clouds as the clouds drifted out of the way.

"We're in a well." John informed Sherlock with the calm of a doctor telling his patient he had six months left to live. "That's where we are; we're in the bottom of a well."

Sherlock frowned; that explained why there had been water in John and Marie's 'cell'. And it wasn't to say that fear gripped his heart when John informed him that he and Marie were in a well, not when they knew what Eurus had done to Redbeard as a _child_. But…

"Why would there be a well in Sherrinford?" Sherlock wondered, confused, when he noticed something else.

Raising the lantern higher, Sherlock looked more closely at the photographs pasted haphazardly on the wall before him, and he murmured: "Why is there a draught?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed in on two panels of the wall, partially hidden by the photographs, and where he could see a small gap between the two wall panels.

Frowning, Sherlock glanced down at the bottom of the wall as well, and his eyes narrowed even further as he noted a similar small gap between the wall and the floor.

"Walls don't contract after you've painted them." Sherlock muttered, his frown deepening, but then he paused.

He slowly lifted his eyes back to the wall before him as he murmured softly, but intently: "Not real ones."

Sherlock placed his lantern down before raising both his hands and slamming them hard against the wall before him. The whole section of the wall fell back instantly, falling with a crash to reveal a large, burnt-out house behind a lawn right in front of Sherlock.

Sherlock's eyes widened and he breathed in realization: "The old home: Musgrave Hall."

He was so stunned, he barely flinched as Eurus suddenly piped up over his earpiece: "Me and Jim Moriarty, we got on like a house on fire, which reminded me of home."

Sherlock grabbed his lantern, before heading out onto the lawn before him and towards his family's old home, while behind him the rest of the walls of his makeshift cell fell out of their places and crashed to the ground.

As he walked, Sherlock snapped at his sister: "Yeah, it's just an old building. I don't care. What did you give Marie?"

"Sweet Jim." Eurus mused, ignoring Sherlock's anger. "He was never very interested in being alive, especially if he could make more trouble being dead."

"Yeah, still not interested!" Sherlock thundered as he headed closer to the old Holmes residence. "Tell me what you gave Marie, Eurus. Now!"

"You _knew_ he'd take his revenge." Eurus taunted. "His revenge, apparently, is _me_."

"Eurus," Sherlock bit out as he reached Musgrave Hall, "you kept Marie alive for a reason; why? I know it wasn't just so you could torture me with whatever hell you've given her."

"Yes, you're right." Eurus sniffed indifferently, answering his questions at last. "I had originally planned to ship her off to the Middle East, or maybe Serbia – they contacted me late but had a detailed welcoming surprise planned for Victoire should they be rewarded with winning the bid on her. You two have some very _interesting_ 'friends' there."

Sherlock's jaw clenched, but he kept his mouth shut as Eurus continued: "Well, it shouldn't be too surprising that Victoire has the enemies that she does; after all, she was one of Jim's best. Anyway, I was going to let the people who had a score to settle with her do what they wanted with her – after all, she's been dreading her demons so. It only seemed right that that fear be rewarded."

"How come you let me think she'd died, then?" Sherlock shot back as he entered the burnt remains of his childhood house at last.

"Well, I couldn't have you go try and rescue her." Eurus answered. "I wasn't going to take _that_ chance; and it seemed more entertaining if you thought she was dead because of you. But you had to ruin it, and threaten to not play with me anymore – I had no choice but to keep her around longer. Though it came with a price, obviously."

Sherlock ground his teeth slightly, but he tried to keep his emotions in check this time as he said stiffly: "Then wouldn't you want to hurt me by telling me what you gave her?"

"Oh, nice try, Sherlock." Eurus chuckled. "But, yes, why don't I tell you what I gave her– and remember when I do that it's because of what _you_ did, Sherlock, that I did it."

Sherlock just waited, before his hands clenched into fists as Eurus finally revealed: "I didn't really do much to her, Sherlock… after all, I only gave her some of your special seven percent solution."


	37. Final Problem

Sherlock's step faltered; despite the fact that he'd been prepared to hear the worst, he hadn't quite expected _this._

' _Seven percent! Oh, Marie._ ' Sherlock thought in horror, while Eurus continued: "It was Jim's idea at first, and I liked it, but didn't think I really needed it. Good thing I kept some prepared anyway."

Sherlock almost couldn't speak, he was so staggered; but his mind returned sharply as Eurus said: "But enough of that: I'm giving you one last chance, Sherlock."

Sherlock opened his mouth, but Eurus wasn't done speaking: "If you win this round, I'll give you back Dr. Watson and Victoire; you will be able to speak with the little girl; and I will tell you where Mycroft is so he can help you save her."

Sherlock waited warily for Eurus to name her terms, waiting for the catch, and she did just as Sherlock noticed a blank screen on the far side of the entry hall, near the staircase.

"Find Redbeard, Sherlock."

The screen came to life, showing Eurus once more but now she was in some dark room with only enough light to light up her face as she said seriously: "I'm letting the water in now. You don't want to lose your wife _again_ , or want me to drown another one of your pets; do you?"

Sherlock stared at Eurus in mute horror as she smiled: "At long last, Sherlock Holmes, it's time to solve the Musgrave ritual."

Sherlock shook his head slightly, stumbling back from the screen; it was impossible, not even Mycroft had managed to figure Eurus's problem, and he had had _years_ to think about it. How could Sherlock solve it now? How could he save those he loved most if he couldn't?

As Sherlock reeled, Eurus chirped: "Your very first case! And the final problem. Oh!"

She gasped lightly in what appeared to be genuine excitement and anticipation, before she smiled slightly at Sherlock as she whispered before she disappeared from the screen once more: "Bye-bye."

"Sherlock?" John called in alarm as water started to pour down into the well, coming down almost like someone had turned a shower on above the well opening.

He dropped the bones he'd been showing Marie, while Marie also shed away from the falling water with a moan as, over their earpieces, Eurus sang: " _I that am lost, oh who will find me. Deep down below-_ "

"Sherlock!" John called sharply, pressing his hand to his earpiece as he tried to get in touch with his friend as Marie moaned again while Eurus continued to sing.

" _The old beech tree?"_

Inside Musgrave Hall, Sherlock walked slowly across the hallway and opened the door to another room, while Eurus sang ominously in his ear: " _Help succour me now."_

"Marie. John." Sherlock gasped at what he saw inside the room, while Eurus just carried on singing.

" _The East winds blow._ "

Sherlock dropped his lantern hurriedly on the ground by the door, while he called: "Marie. John!"

But apparently Eurus had cut their communications for the moment, only letting them hear her terrifyingly emotionless singing.

Sherlock could only stare helplessly at the large screen attached to the far side of the wall, going to stand directly in front of it as he watched John huddle down inside the well, trying to shield Marie from the water pouring down into the well.

" _Sixteen by six, brother._ "

"John, can you hear me?" Sherlock shouted into his earpiece. "Marie? MARIE!"

Marie appeared worse than before, her head lolling almost lifelessly on her shoulder as she leant back heavily against the stone well walls. She didn't even really seem to notice the water or John right in front of her, and Sherlock gripped his hands in tight fists as he stared worriedly at the screen where he could see John continuously tapping Marie, as though urging her to remain conscious.

" _And under we go…_ "

Sherlock heard a faint scream in the background of Eurus's singing; the little girl again.

But before he could call out to her, the communication line switched to John and Marie, and Sherlock pushed his earpiece in further so he could hear better as he heard John call faintly against Eurus's singing: "Sherlock?!"

" _Be not afraid…_ "

"John!" Sherlock called back to John, who shouted over the sound of the water rushing in and Eurus's singing: "Yeah, it's flooding. The well is flooding!"

" _To walk in the shade._ "

John glanced down where the water was rising up to his waist, before he reached over and grabbed Marie, hauling her up to her feet before she could drown from her place seated against the well wall.

" _Save on, save all._ "

Marie stumbled, clearly not in control of her own body, and Sherlock watched anxiously as he called: "Marie, try as long as possible not to drown. That goes for you as well, John."

" _Come, try._ "

"What?" John asked, pushing his own earpiece deeper into his ear as he struggled to hear Sherlock over the sound of the water and Eurus's singing.

Sherlock sighed, both in exasperation and in agitation as he called back: "I'm going to find you both; I _am_ finding you!"

"Well, hurry up, please, because I don't have long!" John shouted back, pressing his hand against his earpiece as he glanced between the rising water and Marie. "And I think Marie has even less time than I do!"

Sherlock shifted anxiously, rubbing his hand down his face worriedly as he struggled to think. Leave the room and risk losing sight of John and Marie when he didn't even have a clue where to go? And how, _how_ to solve Eurus's riddle?

" _Who now will find him?_ "

He started as the little girl screamed in his ear again, the girl crying in panic: "It's leaning over, the whole plane!"

Sherlock dithered, unable to move as the fear slowly began to creep up like a cold paralysis all over his body.

Inside the well, John handed the bones he'd found to Marie, who took them absently, before he turned and felt along the rocks, trying to see if there was any way to climb out. He lifted his leg as high as he could, trying to pull himself onto a higher perch, but the chain on his foot caught and pulled him back down.

John fell with a splash back inside the well, almost hitting Marie as he did – not that she really seemed to notice as she spaced out at apparently nothing, the drugs too strong on her inexperienced body.

" _Lost forever, nine by nineteen._ "

"Eurus!" Sherlock called desperately as he turned and stalked out of the room with the screen of John and Marie, walking out into the hall while his sister carried on singing.

"You said the answer's in the song, but I went through the song." Sherlock pleaded as he paced in the entry hall before the first screen that was now blank. "Line by line all those years ago; and I found nothing. I couldn't find _anything_."

Sherlock stared at the empty screen, begging silently for Eurus to give him some form of a clue so that he could save his wife and best friend from Redbeard's fate as he rambled frantically: "And there-there was a beech tree in the grounds and I dug."

Sherlock's voice cracked as he continued feverishly: "I dug and dug and dug and dug. Sixteen feet by six; sixteen yards; sixteen metres - and I found _nothing. No-one."_

Sherlock stared at the screen pleadingly, only realizing that Eurus had stopped singing when it was deathly quiet for a beat. Then-

"Sherlock?" John called over the earpiece, and Marie's voice mumbled dazedly: "Sherlock?"

Sherlock closed his eyes at her voice – her wonderful yet terrible voice, sounding so weak and tired and lost – before he snapped them open once more as Eurus reappeared on the screen, saying: "It was a clever little puzzle, wasn't it?"

Her tone went deadly as she asked: "So why couldn't you work it out, Sherlock?"

Sherlock raised his hands, pressing them to his mouth as he tried to think, when John called urgently over the comms: Sherlock? There's something you need to know."

Sherlock lowered his hands, breathing heavily and looking around wildly as he tried to figure out the riddle.

"Emotional context." Eurus suddenly piped up, and Sherlock glanced at her. "And he~re it comes."

Sherlock frowned, while John continued to call anxiously: "Sherlock? The bones I found…"

Sherlock turned from Eurus's screen, moving to walk into another room down the hallway where there was another screen hanging from the wall, as he said to John impatiently: "Yes? They're dogs' bones. That's _Redbeard_."

"Mycroft's been lying to you." John informed him, his voice trembling slightly. "To all of us. Marie... just pointed it out to me; she figured it out with one touch, and she's right."

Sherlock frowned in confusion, when John dropped the bomb.

"They're not dogs' bones."

Sherlock blinked, the information unable to sink in due to the shock that paralyzed his entire being, as Eurus asked: "Remember Daddy's allergy? What _was_ he allergic to?"

Sherlock could only stare at the screen as Eurus taunted: "What would he never let you have all those times you begged? Well, he'd _never_ let you have a dog."

Sherlock jerked as, in his mind, a dog barked. Screwing his eyes shut, Sherlock let the memories he'd suppressed for years come flooding back, the memories of the family visit to the beach coming in flashbacks as Eurus continued to speak.

"What a funny little memory, Sherlock."

Sherlock's breathing started to become laboured, coming harsher as his throat constricted. The dog in his memories at the beach, his best friend from his childhood, and his fellow 'pirate'…

"You were upset," Eurus went on, "so you told yourself a better story."

Sherlock staggered back. No… it couldn't be… The bloodhound Sherlock had always recalled so vividly, with the reddish-purple bandana tied around its neck, was actually…

"But we never had a dog." Eurus finished darkly, emphasizing each word, just as Sherlock recalled the true scene from his childhood.

Sherlock running across the beach as a child, splashing water as he played pirate with his plastic sword, while a little ginger-haired boy around his age, dressed in a plaid shirt and with a reddish-purple bandana around his neck, ran after him with his own plastic sword and a toy eyepatch over his right eye.

Inside the well, John grimly picked up the human skull that Marie had told him would likely be in a corner of the well, lodged where the water swirled around. She had immediately figured out the bones that John had handed her earlier were human, not canine, and had challenged John to find the skull, which, she'd added, probably belonged to a human child most likely male.

Her drugged mind had spouted the information as she took all the clues from the sight before her, and from her memory of Mycroft's tale, to make accurate guesses as to whom the skeleton in the well belonged to. Never had John wished Marie was wrong as much as he had when she'd explained it all to him in rapid-fire; but it seemed, there was some scientific explanation as to why Sherlock took his seven-percent solution when he was placed in a particularly difficult bind.

Inside the burnt-out house, Sherlock continued to stare unseeingly at the floor as he remembered the boy from his childhood once more-

"Victor." Sherlock whispered, and Eurus said softly as she stared at Sherlock intently: "Now it's coming."

"Victor Trevor." Sherlock whispered, his voice shaking uncontrollably.

His face contorted with pain with each passing moment as the full weight of his restored memories sank in, and he whispered brokenly: "We played pirates… I was Yellowbeard and he was..."

Sherlock trailed off, before slowly lifting tear-filled eyes to meet Eurus's gaze as she stared at him intently on the screen, her mouth parted slightly.

"He was Redbeard." Sherlock whispered, his voice breaking as sobs threatened to tear out of his throat.

"You were inseparable." Eurus murmured sadly, before she raised her gaze once more and looked right at Sherlock with those piercing blue eyes. "But I wanted to play too."

Sherlock looked away as he realized what had started his sister's behaviour, what had been the cause and the root of all this calamity.

"Oh." Sherlock breathed as he lowered his head, closing his eyes against the tears that threatened to spill. "Oh God."

It wasn't enough, and a tear spilt out and down his cheek as Sherlock cried softly, before asking between quiet sobs: "What…"

He paused to take a few deep breaths, needing them to control his sorrow enough so that he could continue: "What did you do?"

" _I that am lost_ ," Eurus replied in song, " _oh, who will find me? Deep down below, the old beech tree_."

Sherlock stared down at the ground in grief, knowing now for certain what she had done; realizing the meaning in John's words, and understanding the truth in Marie's deductions.

"Victor." Sherlock whispered, and Eurus murmured softly: "Deep waters, Sherlock, all your life."

Sherlock could only stare numbly at nothing, seeing dark blue ripples like those from the pool where he had first faced off against Moriarty, in the worn ground, while Eurus continued: "In all your dreams."

Sherlock recalled the waterfall from his drug-induced hallucination of the Reichenback Falls, again facing off Moriarty.

"Deep waters." Eurus whispered, and Sherlock remembered the aquarium where Mary had died, while the light from the aquarium fish tanks threw strange blue hues on those present.

"Deep waters." Eurus murmured.

"You killed him." Sherlock whispered, slowly lifting his tear-streaked face to stare at Eurus blankly. "You killed my best friend, as a _child_."

"I," Eurus answered quietly but with a hint of a dark anger and deep pain in her voice, "never _had_ a best friend. I had _no-one_."

Sherlock lifted his head to look up in despair at the ceiling, while in the well John struggled to keep his head afloat as the water slowly rose up passed his chest. His one hand clutched the rocky wall of the well, while his other grabbed Marie and hauled her up with him.

She was too weak to hinder or help him – the numb phase of the drugs had worn off, leaving her cold, drained and without any energy as she shivered and her teeth rattled from having been inside the freezing water for over five hours.

"Hang on, Marie." John encouraged, though he was starting to lose hope that they would be saved. They'd always managed to figure something out together, before; but… His heart constricted as he remembered Mary, and little Rosie waiting for him at home.

Marie was deathly pale as she shivered, and she whispered: "Sherlock…"

Sherlock stood unmoving before the screen inside the room in Musgrave Hall, still emotionally reeling from this latest revelation.

"No-one." Eurus repeated bitingly as she stared at Sherlock bitterly.


	38. First Problem

Sherlock closed his eyes and lowered his head, bowing it as he let it all sink in.

' _No-one._ ' Eurus had said. Yes, she had no-one to care and share emotions with, as Sherlock had pointed out before. And she had no-one she had to love as Sherlock loved Marie and Sheryl and Scottie-

Sherlock paused.

No… that wasn't right. She was clearly obsessed with him, her brother, but what if that wasn't obsession? What if it was love? It wasn't something Sherlock had been too familiar with before, having been taught by Mycroft (although apparently as a direct result of his interactions with Eurus) to be removed from love, even the filial kind.

But, what if Eurus had simply loved her brother? What if… it wasn't spite but love that had motivated her actions?

Sherlock recalled a time when Scottie had cried and cried after Sherlock's mother had given Sheryl a sweetie but failed to give him one too. Marie had scolded the boy for using crying as a means of getting attention, when all he had to do was ask nicely.

Ask nicely… crying to get attention.

Sherlock's mind jumped to Eurus's words again: " _It's time to solve the Musgrave ritual._ "

She had wanted attention, so she made the Musgrave riddle. It had to have a connection with the funny graveyards with the impossible dates that Sherlock had apparently loved to play in as a child; if Eurus wanted his attention, she would have chosen something that would get Sherlock's attention.

And suddenly, Sherlock recalled again the grave of Nemo Holmes, one of the many graves in the impossible graveyard, one he'd run passed every day as a child.

" _No-one._ " Eurus had said.

Nemo: Latin for no-one, or nobody.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open, and he said quietly but in a strong, steely tone: "Okay."

He looked up at Eurus once more, who stared back with a bit of apprehension in her slightly knitted brows, as Sherlock said determinedly: "Okay; let's play."

Sherlock turned and ran from the room, grabbing his lantern on the way out.

Eurus watched him again from the screen in the entry hall as Sherlock raced passed on his way out of the front door, from where he hurried around the side of the house towards the graveyard at the back.

Quickly throwing open the gate, Sherlock dashed into the graveyard, bending down before each one and holding the lantern up close so that he could read the various names and dates clearly.

"Hello?" The little girl's voice called again, terrified. "Are you there?"

"Need your help." Sherlock answered shortly as he ran amongst the graves, reading the dates and years clearly. "I'm trying to solve a puzzle."

"But what about the plane?" The girl asked worriedly, but Sherlock answered swiftly: "Well, the puzzle will save the plane."

He peered at each grave, and he muttered: "The wrong dates. She used the wrong dates on the gravestones as the key to the cipher, and the cipher was the song."

* * *

In the well, John struggled to keep Marie's head up out of the water with him. She was starting to become lucid as the drugs started to wear off, but it also meant that every discomfort, every pain in her body, was also returning as her sense woke up.

She'd started keening as she shivered against the cold, clutching her head at irregular intervals as the drugs burnt through her system, and it was all John could do to keep her conscious with him.

At Sherlock's words, John yelled, getting more and more desperate: "Is this _strictly_ relevant?"

"Yes, it is." Sherlock answered shortly. "I'll be with you in a minute."

* * *

Sherlock could hear Marie's faint moans of pain, but he knew he couldn't focus on that now – if he wanted to save her at all, he needed to solve Eurus's riddle first.

Placing down his lantern, Sherlock mentally visualized all of the dates from the graves, taking only the numbers from the years and breaking them down into pairs: '13', '04', '17'; '19', and so on.

Sherlock took a deep breath, eyes narrowing as he focused all of his attention on his task, when the little girl said urgently in his ear: "The lights are getting closer."

"Hush, now. Working." Sherlock answered, dismissing the girl as he focused solely on the numbers he was picturing in the air before him.

He also conjured up the words to Eurus's strange little tune, picturing each line the way he remembered her singing over and over again in his childhood:

 _I that am lost, oh who will find me?_

 _Deep down below the old beech tree_

 _Help succour me now the east winds blow_

 _Sixteen by six, brother, and under we go!_

 _Without your love, he'll be gone before_

 _Save pity for strangers, show Love the door._

 _My soul seek the shade of my willow's bloom_

 _Inside, brother mine -_

 _Let Death make a room._

 _Be not afraid to walk in the shade_

 _Save one, save all, come try!_

 _My steps - five by seven_

 _Life is closer to Heaven_

 _Look down, with dark gaze, from on high._

 _Before he was gone - right back over my 'ill_

 _Who now will find him?_

 _Why, nobody will_

 _Doom shall I bring to him, I that am queen_

 _Lost forever, nine by nineteen_.

"Let's number the words of the song."" Sherlock muttered to himself as he visualized numbers on each of the words of Eurus's song.

He took another deep breath before he closed his eyes for better focus as he muttered: "Then rearrange the numbered words to match the sequence on the gravestones."

He gasped as he managed to pull out the correct words by the matching number from the graves, and Sherlock reopened his eyes as he began physically moving the words he was visualizing in the air before himself, into the order that matched the order of the gravestones.

"I… am… lost." Sherlock muttered as he pulled each word into place, frowning slightly as he focused his full attention on unraveling the true meaning behind Eurus's song.

"Help... me... brother..."

He swiped the words aside as he moved to the next phrase.

"Save... my... life... Before... my... doom."

Sherlock swung the words he'd put together out of the way as he moved onto the next lines, murmuring: "I... am... lost... Without... your... love... Save… my ... soul..."

"Seek... my... room."

He stopped dead as he finished; as the words sank in.

Sherlock stared at the last three words of the puzzle, before his eyes moved passed his mental visualization and landed on his old home.

"Oh God." Sherlock whispered, before he grabbed his lantern once more as he rushed back towards the burnt-out house.

"We're going to crash!" The little girl screamed in his ear as he ran. "I'm going to die!"

Sherlock dashed back into the house, saying firmly as he made his way swiftly up the stairs and onto the first floor: "I think it's time you told me your real name."

"I'm not allowed to tell my name to strangers." The little girl answered fearfully, just as Sherlock reached a closed door at the end of the first floor landing.

He stopped before it, taking a moment to calm his racing heart, before he murmured quietly: "But I'm not a stranger, am I?"

Sherlock opened the door swiftly, stepping inside and he said softly as his eyes landed on the sight inside: "I'm your brother."

There, in the middle of her ruined childhood bedroom, sat Eurus.

Curled up into a tight ball on a worn, old blanket, she sat huddled in a fetal position with her arms wrapped around her knees and her eyes screwed tightly shut; clearly trapped in her own mind. Trapped, in the airplane that could only crash someday; in the fear that had plagued her as a little girl; in the isolation that had dominated her entire life.

Sherlock placed his lantern down quickly before he approached her carefully, whispering gently: "I'm here, Eurus."

The woman didn't move, not responding at first, but as Sherlock reached out a hand slowly towards her, she suddenly spoke without opening her eyes.

"You're playing with me, Sherlock." Eurus murmured in a little girl's voice – the little girl on the plane's voice. "We're playing the game."

"The game, yes." Sherlock agreed quietly, trying to keep his voice calm and soothing though his heart was racing both from fear for his wife and best friend, and from the adrenaline rush that his realization had given him. "I get it now."

He took another step closer to her as he went on: "The song was never a set of directions."

Eurus's brows furrowed, and her hands tightened on her knees as she whimpered still in the little girl's voice: "I'm in the plane, and I'm going to crash."

Sherlock knelt down before her gently, keeping his movements slow so as not to alarm her, while Eurus cried: "And you're going to save me."

"Look how brilliant you are." Sherlock murmured softly as he came closer. "Your mind has created the perfect metaphor."

Eurus twitched slightly as Sherlock continued sympathetically: "You're high above us, all alone in the sky; and you understand everything, except how to land."

Sherlock shifted, moving to sit down before Eurus, while he added: "Now, I'm just an idiot; but I'm on the ground."

Eurus whimpered again, and Sherlock reached out, placing his fingers carefully on Eurus's hands as he said anxiously: "I can bring you home."

"No." Eurus moaned plaintively, her brows knitting further and she shrank in on herself, curling up further into a ball as she repeated, her voice slowly changing back to her adult tone. "No, no."

Her body shuddered with repressed sobs, and Eurus whispered in her regular voice, though it was filled with pain and hopelessness: "It's too late now."

"No it's not." Sherlock answered firmly as he shifted even closer to Eurus, keeping his worried gaze on her as he tried to reach her. "It's not too late."

"Every time," Eurus cried, her eyes squeezing shut even more while her whole face twisted with utter fear, "I close my eyes, I'm on the plane."

Her voice shook, as did her entire body, and Sherlock's face filled with pity as Eurus whimpered: "I'm lost, lost in the sky and…"

She sobbed, bowing her head slightly as she got out tearfully: "No-one can hear me."

She pulled her knees even closer as she began to cry in earnest, and Sherlock leaned in even closer, holding her hands as he whispered gently, comfortingly: "Open your eyes."

Eurus struggled, clearly torn between opening them and being unable to open them, but Sherlock murmured reassuringly: "I'm here."

His sister finally opened her eyes slowly, raising her head to look up at him with those blue eyes that were no longer cold and void of emotion but filled with an utterly broken expression that made his heart ache.

"You're not lost any more." Sherlock comforted, and Eurus sobbed.

Sherlock moved around so that he could pull her into his arms, and Eurus reached out for him as his arms wrapped around her shaking frame. She sobbed, crying freely now as she clung onto him while Sherlock held her tightly as she wept onto his shoulder.

"Now," Sherlock murmured gently as she cried, "you... you just ... you just went the wrong way last time, that's all."

Eurus's eyes were wide, terrified and distraught, while Sherlock continued thickly but firmly: "This time, get it right. Tell me how to save my wife and friend."

* * *

In the well, John gasped as Marie suddenly jerked and she slipped from his grip with a cry of pain.

"Marie!" John gasped, as the brunette woman fell with a splash into the water.

He quickly dove in after her, dragging her back up above the water while she coughed violently.

"Marie, are you okay? Marie?" John demanded, and Marie got out between gasps, sounding the most coherent since they'd been reunited: "Oh, God, Sherlock!"

* * *

Sherlock turned his head in alarm when he heard John's cry in his ear, before his heart clenched at the rawness of Marie's voice as she called for him.

Eurus also shifted, apparently having heard their voices as well, and she lifted her head from Sherlock's shoulder as he pulled back slightly. He kept his hand on her head, caressing it gently, while the other held her shoulder tightly as he began: "Eurus…"

Eurus's eyes were wide, vulnerable, and still filled with tears, but they were still intent as she stared at her brother as Sherlock pleaded: "Help me."

She sniffled, but she watched him as seriously as he stared at her while he requested earnestly: "Help me save Marie Holmes, and John Watson."

Eurus stared at him, understanding and acceptance flooding into her still-tearful but calmer blue eyes.

* * *

Inside the well, John grunted as the water reached passed his chin level, while Marie struggled to hang onto the rocks.

"John!" She called worriedly, but he shouted back at her: "You stay up there, Marie; you stay there until you're stronger again, strong enough to climb out of here."

"I'm not leaving you." She argued, and he snapped: "Look, what good does it do for both of us to die?! You're getting better, you can still make it!"

"Shut up, you can be the soldier all you want, but I'm your friend and I won't leave you to die here." Marie snapped as she willed herself desperately to regain the use of her limp arms while fighting the urge to vomit.

She was slowly recovering from the drugs Eurus had injected into her, but it wasn't fast enough and time was something they were running very, very short on.

"Trust you to argue with me the minute you get your head back on!" John gasped, as the water levels rose dangerously close up to his mouth.

Marie bunched up her muscles to attempt diving down to the bottom of the well to try and free John's feet, while also opening her mouth to retort, when a bright searchlight suddenly shone down on their heads.

The pair squinted at the sudden brightness, startled, before they both gasped in relief as a rope was thrown down into the well while a very familiar shadow appeared at the top, calling: "Marie! John!"


	39. Home, Holmes

Sherlock watched gravely as two police officers led Eurus away from Musgrave Hall, a small frown on his face. Marie glanced up at Sherlock before looking back at Eurus as the woman headed towards the police van without looking at any of them.

His sister still looked tearful, but she was also meek as she allowed herself to be taken; and Sherlock knew it was no trap, nor trick. Eurus Holmes had finally gotten what she wanted, what she'd needed; and now, she understood what she deserved.

Marie sighed, and Sherlock glanced down at her as well before he pulled her even closer against his chest, tucking her in further into his embrace as he warmed her through her thick blankets.

The first thing they'd done after they'd pulled Marie and John out of the well, was to get both warmed up and get Marie was tested for any harmful effects from the drugs. Thankfully, she'd come up negative on that front, though they knew she wouldn't be fully clean for a while yet.

She was also shivering uncontrollably as her unconditioned exposure to the '7% solution' left her weak and very uncoordinated though she had managed to get her senses back. Still, they were all alive, and that was all that mattered at the moment.

Sherlock pressed his lips to the top of Marie's head as they watched Eurus climb into the waiting police van.

"You know, she managed to shoot me twice." Marie said suddenly, and Sherlock glanced down at her.

"No-one's ever managed to do something like that before; not even Jim." She explained. "Though, I suppose with him it _was_ more because he liked other forms of punishment, rather than the fact that he _couldn't_ shoot me."

John glanced over at the couple from his spot beside them, wrapped in his own thick towel and blanket, before he shook his head as Marie finished: "Point is, it's something of an honour to have shot me twice; and she's the first who's ever managed to successfully drug me. That's something."

Sherlock snorted at last, shaking his head a little at Marie's absurdity, before they all looked up again as Greg came over towards them.

"I just spoke to your brother." He told Sherlock, who turned to face Greg instantly as he asked: "How is he?"

"He's a bit shaken up, that's all." Greg reassured. "She didn't hurt him - she just locked him in her old cell."

"What goes around comes around." John observed with a sigh, before he glanced at Sherlock and Marie as they winced. "Sorry."

"It's fine." Sherlock sighed, while Marie nodded, and Greg looked up to see one of his men motioning for him.

"Give me a moment, you three." He muttered.

Greg started to walk away, going towards his men, but he paused as Sherlock called after him quietly: "Oh, um…"

Greg looked back questioningly, and Sherlock requested softly: "Mycroft – make sure he's looked after. He's not as strong as he thinks he is."

"Yeah, I'll take care of it." Greg nodded, before he turned and started to walk away again.

"Thanks, Greg." Sherlock murmured, turning away to place his lips back on Marie's head as he looked down thoughtfully.

John lifted his head from his blankets in surprise, while Greg also turned and looked back at Sherlock in shock. Marie had also lifted her gaze slightly to glance at her husband, but Sherlock didn't even seem to realize anything was different as he stared pensively at the ground.

Marie's lips curved up into a smile while Greg blinked twice before he turned and walked away once more.

"Sherlock?" Marie said softly as Greg walked out of hearing range, and Sherlock asked: "Hm?"

"Well done."

"For what?" He asked, frowning, but Marie just kept that soft smile on her face as she answered: "Nothing."

Sherlock's frown deepened, but Marie turned in his arms and reached up to kiss him so he gave up trying to ask; instead, he pulled her closer as he answered her kiss, thankful to have her back in his arms.

John shook his head at them before looking over at Greg as the D.I. spoke with his officer.

"Pete, the helicopter ready?" Greg was asking the other man, who nodded as he hummed in affirmative: "Mm-hm."

"Let's move her, then." Greg called, and the police van doors were shut firmly on Eurus Holmes as the officers all prepared to move out.

"Is that him, sir?" One of the officers suddenly piped up, and Greg glanced at the man.

The officer nodded to the side, as he asked: "Sherlock Holmes?"

Greg turned to look over his shoulder back at Sherlock, where the detective was now speaking softly to Marie as they continued to stand in each other's embrace.

"Fan, are you?" Greg asked his officer, who shrugged as he answered: "Well, he's a great man, sir."

"No, he's better than that." Greg replied firmly as he watched Marie's eyes soften while Sherlock leaned down to press his forehead against his wife's. "He's a _good_ one."

The other officer's lips twitched into a smile, but he nodded in agreement before the two officers turned and walked away with the others.

Marie looked over as they heard the car engines start, watching as the police van carrying Eurus started to drive away. Sherlock turned to watch the same thing, his eyes regretful.

John glanced over at them, before he asked Sherlock quietly: "You okay?"

Marie glanced over briefly before turning to look back at the disappearing van while Sherlock said quietly: "I said I'd bring her home."

He sighed before he murmured thoughtfully: "I can't, can I?"

Marie glanced over again, before exchanging a quick look with John as she said softly: "No… I don't think you can."

"But," John added, "you gave her what she was looking for: context."

Sherlock frowned slightly, and he looked over at them as he asked: "Is that good?"

John shrugged as he answered: "It's not good, it's not bad. It's…"

He trailed off, trying to find the right words, and Marie finished for him softly: "It is what it is."

John nodded in agreement, and Sherlock thought on it for a moment before he, too, nodded slowly.

* * *

 _Diogenes Office_

"Alive?!" Mrs. Holmes repeated in shock, staring at her eldest son in absolute disbelief. "For all these years?"

The elderly woman was standing beside Mycroft's desk, while her husband sat in similar shock in the seat across from Mycroft. Their eldest son himself sat at his desk as he waited silently, knowing that it would be better for him if he simply let his mother rant until she ran out of steam. His father, however, appeared unable to even speak as he gaped at Mycroft, apparently still not able to believe what he'd just heard.

Sherlock, meanwhile, stood at the back of the office room, holding Sheryl in one arm as he leant against the closed door behind his parents. With his other arm, he held Marie tightly by the waist, even as she held Scottie in her arms, keeping her close as he had done continually since the incident at Sherrinford.

Marie had struggled through a period of withdrawal symptoms for the whole day following the incident; but with Sherlock's help and guidance, she was now back on her feet. But neither could easily forget what had happened on Sherrinford Island; and not even his own children's return to his and Marie's arms had kept Sherlock from sticking as close to Marie as possible. Not that she was complaining, far from it – she, too, had kept herself as glued to his side as possible, even now as they listened in silence to what was unfolding before them.

The twins themselves appeared to be aware something serious was going on, and they stayed silently in their parents' arms and observed their grandparents and uncle exchange severe words with the utmost serious looks on their little faces.

Mrs. Holmes was still staring at Mycroft in a mix of shock and indignity as she demanded: "How is that even _possible_?!"

Mycroft sighed as he explained with one hand grasping his chin wearily: "What Uncle Rudi began..."

He hesitated, before he lowered his eyes even further as he continued with just the faintest, unsure stutter: " _I_ thought it best to continue."

"I'm not asking _how_ you did it," Mrs. Holmes retorted, aghast, "idiot boy! I'm asking how _could_ you?"

Mr. Holmes looked between his wife and his eldest son, while Mycroft answered softly: "I was trying to be kind."

He looked up at his mother at last, while Mrs. Holmes stared at Mycroft incredulously.

"Kind?" She repeated, taking in sharp, pained breaths. "Kind?"

Marie winced, turning her head into Sherlock's shoulder as Mrs. Holmes accused Mycroft tearfully: "You told us that our daughter was _dead_."

"Better that," Mycroft answered grimly, "than tell you what she had become."

Mrs. Holmes stared at him in wide-eyed shock, and Mycroft added quietly, trying to soften the blow: "I'm sorry."

His father stood up, taking over for his wife as he said seriously while leaning his hands on the desk between them: "Whatever she became, whatever she is now, Mycroft, she remains our _daughter_."

"And my sister." Mycroft responded quietly, and Mrs. Holmes answered sternly: "Then you should have done better."

"He did his best." Sherlock interrupted, speaking at last as he looked at his brother.

Mycroft returned the gaze, looking faintly surprised that Sherlock was coming to his defense, though Mrs. Holmes responded petulantly: "Then he's _very_ limited."

Mycroft couldn't respond to that, though he continued to meet Sherlock's gaze as the two brothers exchanged mutual looks, before they both looked to their father as Mr. Holmes asked: "Where is she?"

"Back in Sherrinford." Mycroft replied heavily. "Secure, this time."

He leveled a grim look at his father as he added: "People have died; your own daughter-in-law could have been one of them."

Both Mr. and Mrs. Holmes glanced at Marie in surprise, but the brunette woman just met their gazes calmly even as Sherlock squeezed her side reassuringly, while Mycroft continued firmly: "Without doubt she will kill again if she has the opportunity. There's no possibility she'll ever be able to leave."

The elderly Holmes parents turned back to their eldest son once more, and Mr. Holmes demanded: "When can we see her?"

Mycroft looked at his father directly in the eye as he answered quietly: "There's no point."

"How _dare_ you say that?" Mrs. Holmes cried, upset and angered, but Mycroft replied firmly, shutting his eyes tiredly: "She won't talk. She won't communicate with anyone in _any_ way. She has passed," he sighed heavily, "beyond our view."

Marie glanced at Sherlock, who was gazing thoughtfully at the ground.

Mycroft meanwhile was looking at his mother once more as he said in a resigned tone: "There are no words that can reach her now."

Mrs. Holmes stared at Mycroft for a moment, before she turned away.

"Sherlock." She called, her eyes beseeching as she looked to her younger son.

Sherlock stared back neutrally, and Mrs. Holmes borderline begged: "Well? You were _always_ the grown-up."

Mycroft lifted his head a little at that as well, glancing at his younger brother, who was standing beside his wife and with his children.

Yes, Sherlock had always been the adult, hadn't he? Mycroft realized. Sherlock, who could throw a temper tantrum like any child, had still been the most mature of his siblings because he had been able to do what neither his older brother nor his younger sister had been able to do: he'd been able to feel and control emotions, and grow stronger because of them.

Mycroft saw that now, as he looked at Sherlock standing as the head of his own little family, with an equally strong wife to balance him out and lead their two wonderfully talented children out into the world.

Mrs. Holmes was still staring at Sherlock as she asked, almost helplessly: "What do we do now?"

Sherlock met their gazes momentarily before he glanced down at Sheryl in his arms thoughtfully.

His daughter was currently pulling on Scott's wrist as the boy suckled on his fist, an unfortunate habit that had formed while he'd been teething particularly badly. The boy _would_ continue, despite all Sherlock's reprimands. But for some reason, the boy listened to his mother… and his sister.

Sherlock watched as Scott finally released his little fist at Sheryl's insistence, before he lifted his eyes to meet Marie's.

She was watching him, examining his expressions, and as Sherlock looked at her, she saw his decision as clear as day in his light blue eyes.

Marie huffed a little, but nodded in agreement while the rest of the Holmes family watched their silent exchange, waiting patiently for Sherlock to verbalize their conclusion.

* * *

 _Some time later_

Sherlock walked slowly into the grey-walled room, taking measured steps as he entered Eurus's cell room once more.

His sister was sitting on a seat in the corner of her cell, her back to the glass that actually separated them this time. She didn't move, though he knew she'd heard him enter, and knew that she knew who her visitor was.

Sherlock stopped exactly three feet from the glass, placing down the bag he'd been carrying on the ground gently.

Still, Eurus didn't react, but Sherlock had been expecting as much so he continued about his own business as he unzipped his bag before gently pulling out the instrument inside.

Sherlock straightened, placing the violin rest on his shoulder as he balanced the bow in his other hand while simultaneously checking the instrument's tuning as he plucked at a few strings softly.

Even then, Eurus didn't move; but he still wasn't discouraged – this was still no more and no less than he'd been expecting.

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock placed his bow to the violin, before he drew it down across the strings as he began to play the first notes of the piece he'd heard Eurus playing the first time he'd come to Sherrinford.

He played the opening bars slowly, carefully, before he paused and looked over at his sister as she sat with her back to him. She hadn't shown any indication that she'd heard him, and Sherlock tried again.

Playing the same notes, he continued to play a few more bars of Eurus's song, his movements becoming stronger and allowing more emotion into the piece.

Finally, Eurus responded, getting up and moving to the centre of her cell as she turned to watch Sherlock.

He paused mid-note when he saw her move, and she stopped moving when he stopped playing.

The two siblings stared at each other silently for a long time, before Sherlock slowly resumed his playing. He once again let his hands play with a touch of emotion in them as he regained his momentum, though he kept the notes crisp and clean – the only way he knew how to play.

Eurus watched him play for another long moment, her head tilting slightly in interest, before she finally turned and picked up her own violin off her bed.

Sherlock paused in his playing again, mid-phrase, and he watched with just the smallest hint of surprised pleasure as Eurus tossed her hair back over her shoulder as she shouldered her violin for the first time in a long while.

Eurus touched her bow to her instrument, not even hesitating as she pulled the bow down on the violin strings as she continued the melody Sherlock had left off.

Sherlock watched her as Eurus played a few powerful notes, adding an improvisation as she added a vibrato and a change in tempo to the last few notes before she lowered her bow as she looked at Sherlock expectantly.

Sherlock lifted his bow in answer, and he played the same bar back to her, though he kept his playing to the book. Part of it was on purpose, and part of it was because he acknowledged the pure fact that Eurus was the genius – musical or otherwise. Sherlock played while he thought; Eurus played to let out thoughts.

And this was reflected in her playing, as she let out richer sounds and musical complexities; like now.

Eurus joined Sherlock's playing, and the two siblings played their duet, each doing their own interpretations of the melody and adjusting to the other's play as they began to modify and add and detract from the original tune to create their own unique conversation.


	40. Sherlocked

_John's house_

Marie yawned, having just placed the twins and Rosie to sleep for their afternoon nap, when something caught her eye.

A soft smile lit her face and she stood up carefully, leaving the sleeping babies as she walked across the room to pick up a framed photograph. It was from John and Mary's wedding, one of the few photos that they'd managed to have taken where it was just the four of them.

John stood beaming on the left, while Mary smiled as she hung onto his arm lovingly in the centre of the frame. Beside the blonde woman was Marie, laughing at the camera as she grabbed Sherlock's arm and dragged him into the photo. He'd joined the picture reluctantly, but there was a small smile on his face as his gaze remained on Marie, ignoring the camera as it took the group shot.

' _It's just as well._ ' Marie mused to herself. ' _The rest of us were smiling and laughing while facing a would-be murderer - typical._ '

Marie chuckled as she ran her thumb fondly over the photo.

Her thumb paused over Mary's face as she did, and her gaze softened as Marie remembered John's latest announcement to her and Sherlock: he was selling his house - the house he had bought with Mary after their marriage had been formally decided.

It had been a monumental decision; but after great deliberation, John had concluded that Rosie would need more than his paternal supervision. He couldn't rely on Molly or Mrs. Hudson forever, and so he'd decided to move closer to the best maternal figure Rosie could have.

Therefore, he'd said, he was moving to 221C Baker Street. It was the best decision for both Rosie, and himself, and John knew Mary would have been proud and happy with his decision.

Mrs. Hudson was ecstatic too, happy to have John back and to have the basement flat taken once more. It had needed very little fixing and cleaning, for Marie had been efficient in having it restored when she'd first moved in six years ago.

' _Six years…_ ' Marie mused. ' _That's all it's been – six years. And yet, it's been so much more. So much has changed; but at the same time… so little has, in the end._ '

"Isn't that right, Mary?" Marie asked, as she looked up and smiled at the apparition of Mary before her, who grinned back.

"Of course." Mary replied smugly, and Marie laughed.

"They're safe, now." Marie noted. "Safe from it all… and from themselves. You don't have to worry about it."

"Just like you now have nothing to fear." Mary pointed out, and Marie smiled softly.

"I wish you could have been here with us." She murmured, and Mary smiled kindly.

"I'm just glad you didn't share the same fate as me." Mary answered gently. "We, who were too similar…"

* * *

 _Flashback_

 _2014_

 _"_ _Your other best friend is an ex-assassin," Sherlock had said to John impatiently, "who now works for the secret service and is currently engaged to your sociopath best friend…"_

 _"_ _You're abnormally attracted to dangerous situations and people, so is it truly such a surprise, that the woman you've fallen in love with conforms to that pattern?"_

 _Marie's green eyes met Mary's blue ones, and Mary swallowed as she finally saw a hint of sympathy. Mary had been right - Marie did know too well what it would feel like to be in Mary's shoes._

* * *

 **"Who spent our entire lives," Mary continued, "certain that our demons would one day catch up to us…"**

* * *

 _Late 2015_

 _Marie exhaled sharply before she asked randomly: "Do you ever think back to everything you've done, and wish now that you hadn't done most of it?"_

 _"Yes." Mary answered briefly and flatly. "It was… fun, at the time, the adventures, the thrills, but… yes. I do look at Rosie now, and think back and…"_

 _"Jim had enemies, enemies that are by association my enemies; and now even his allies are my enemies. I just," Marie sighed, "I just can't shake the feeling that karma always comes back to bite us."_

* * *

 **"It's nice to be proven wrong, just once, isn't it?" Mary smiled.**

 **"Oh, it was more than once." Marie laughed, though there was a hint of sadness as she gazed at Mary.**

 **Mary just smiled, while Marie acknowledged: "But yes – it's nice to be proven wrong, once in a while."**

* * *

 _2012_

 _"You don't even know my name." She whispered, and Sherlock replied quietly: "But I know your heart. And despite what you think, it is a good one."_

 _She closed her eyes at that, a tear slipping through and falling down her cheek._

* * *

 _2014_

 _The tears spilled over and Mary – or Rosamund Mary, as she later revealed her name to be - whispered, her voice breaking: "You don't even know my name."_

 _"Is 'Mary Watson' good enough for you?" John asked, and Mary sobbed: "Yes! Oh, my God, yes!"_

* * *

 _2012_

 _"Who are you?" Sherlock asked softly, his lips just brushing against hers._

 _Her lips curved into a smile, and she breathed just before Sherlock closed the small space between them: "Victoire Marie Spencer."_

* * *

 **"And you can look after our boys now." Mary added with a smile, and Marie laughed again.**

 **"Yes." She smiled. " _Our_ boys. We really are too similar."**

 **"You fell for a junkie, who solves crimes as an alternative to getting high…" Mary mused.**

* * *

 _Early 2010_

 _Sherlock unzipped a body bag, looking inside and wrinkling his nose a little as he sniffed before reaching for his riding crop._

* * *

 **"And you fell for a doctor, who never came home from the war." Marie teased back, a small smile on her face as she and Mary exchanged knowing looks.**

* * *

 _Early 2010_

 _John awoke violently, jolting up in bed, alone, with his latest memories of the Afghan War ringing in his mind._

* * *

 **"It's almost like a story isn't it?" Marie mused, but Mary corrected with a smile: "That's what matters though, isn't it? The legend, the stories, the adventures."**

 **"Stories…" Marie mused. "Yes… I suppose, we're all just stories in the end, aren't we? Fairytales, and mysteries, and dramas…"**

 **"Those were stories we lived." Mary laughed. "Think about it: we were two spies, with no-one left to trust in the world, nothing to live or die for… and then, they came into our lives."**

* * *

In 221B, a workman swept up the burnt and ruined articles lying around the sitting room while another man stuffed rubbish into large, black plastic bags.

John stood before the fireplace, looking around the room tiredly as he rubbed the back of his neck, wondering if they would _ever_ be able to get things into order again so that Sherlock and his family could move back in while John's family could move into the basement flat.

Sherlock himself, however, sat in his rescued armchair… texting casually, as Greg texted him frantically with the details of some case he was having difficulty solving. Typical Scotland Yard.

* * *

 **"But that's what they do best, isn't it?" Marie laughed, shaking her head. "The so-called sociopath and the thrill-seeking doctor; yet together, they can inspire hope and refuge; for the desperate, the unloved, the persecuted."**

* * *

In the midst of the debris in 221B, which Sherlock had finally moved to help clean up, Sherlock picked up the animal skull that usually hung on the wall between the windows.

He paused, before looking up as John turned around from where he'd just bent down to pick up a pair of headphones from near the fireplace.

John looked from the headphones to the skull, before he smiled as Sherlock silently held out the skull. John placed the headphones back on the animal skull, where they belonged below the horns, and looped the cable over the top.

Sherlock then turned, looking for somewhere to put the skull, while John moved to fix up the wallpaper.

* * *

 **"There is a final court of appeal for _everyone_." Mary reminded her friend. "You, me… anyone, everyone."**

* * *

In 221B, John spray-painted the back wall with yellow paint while Sherlock – having fixed the mantelpiece over the fireplace – beamed.

John stepped back when he'd finished, proud of his work, before he looked back over his shoulder at Sherlock expectantly. Sherlock grinned as he lifted his pistol, spinning the chamber before he cocked the gun, aimed, and fired two shots right into the yellow smiley face on the wall.

John also grinned widely as Sherlock beamed, blowing the muzzle of his pistol in satisfaction before he pulled out one of the many letters he'd received in his absence, stabbing the envelope of a potentially intriguing into the wood of the mantelpiece.

Just as Mrs. Hudson strode into the flat, having heard the gunshots, and she lifted her hands in exasperation when she saw what they'd done to her wall and her mantelpiece.

* * *

 **"When life gets too strange..." Marie said slowly.**

* * *

 _Sometime in the future_

Sherlock walked around the client chair in his camel dressing gown, frowning down at the antique ventriloquist's dummy sitting there, while John observed from his armchair and Marie shook her head at the absurdity of the case as she walked passed the room with both her children in her arms.

* * *

 **"Too impossible," Mary finished for her, "or too frightening…"**

* * *

Sherlock stood up from his armchair, dressed in his regular suit and jacket, and he frowned as he walked across the room to examine the feet of a dead man lying on his back in the middle of the sitting room floor.

John was trying to revive the man as he patted the face of the male dressed like a Viking with one hand, while using his other to peel the strange man's eyelid open so he could check if the man was conscious.

Marie was on the phone, checking on Rosie and the twins – who were downstairs with Mrs. Hudson – while she nodded at Sherlock, agreeing with him as they mouthed together: "Shoes."

* * *

 **"There is always one last hope." Mary murmured.**

* * *

Mrs. Hudson walked into the sitting room, carrying Scottie while Molly followed, carrying Rosie. John brought up the rear, carrying Sheryl... who instantly reached for her father's abandoned microscope as the man himself dashed towards the kitchen to stop Marie from opening the fridge and ruining his experiment, while Marie argued with him for placing it in the fridge around lunchtime.

Blood coagulation in severed toes or not, his children needed to eat!

* * *

 **"When all else fails…" Mary continued, smiling at Marie as they faced each other, and Marie chimed in with a smile back at Mary: "There are two men sitting, arguing in a scruffy flat..."**

* * *

John shook his head in despair as he went to wash his hands, after Rosie had spilt her food all over his hands by accident when she'd hit her food bowl as she played with her spoon on her baby table.

Sherlock endeavoured to prevent any more messes from happening in John's absence, while simultaneously trying to keep his own children out of trouble as they started to squirm in their baby chairs. He expertly placed a plastic microscope and a plastic set of keys in front of Sheryl and Scottie respectively, and instantly the two children became absorbed in examining and playing with their toys.

Seeing Rosie about to fall out of her own chair, Sherlock moved to catch his goddaughter before she could come to any harm.

Spotting movement down the hallway, Sherlock smiled and he pointed across the room with his free hand as he held Rosie close to his own body, as he said: "Oh, there's Daddy!"

John smiled as he walked back into the room, holding out his hands for his daughter and Rosie gurgled happily as she went into her father's arms. "Dada!"

"Yes, da- Sheri!" John yelled as he dove for the little girl as Sheryl stood up unsteadily in her baby's chair, trying to examine the ceiling with her microscope.

Startled, Sheryl tipped over in her seat, falling with a cry towards Scottie. Sherlock and John dove to save the babies, John balancing Rosie precariously while he grabbed his godson's chair and held the baby up safely as Sherlock caught and swung his daughter in his arms while catching Scottie's cup as it fell off his baby chair.

* * *

 **"With one woman to balance them out when things get _too_ crazy." Mary went on. "Like they've always been there."**

* * *

Marie walked into the flat, laughing and shaking her head at the Sherlock and John's antics, when they heard footsteps on the stairs.

She turned, before smiling in greeting and moving out of the way for Greg as the distressed D.I. hurried into the room. He nodded hastily at Marie in greeting before turning to Sherlock for help while John looked on in surprise before he shook his head in exasperation.

No, it was not a good idea to propose to Molly so soon after Greg had finally finished all the paperwork and legalities to officially divorce his cheating wife. Even Sherlock had to know that… Sherlock?

* * *

 **"And they always will be." Marie promised. "Even if everything else changes."**

 **Mary smiled.**

* * *

Marie laughed ecstatically and Sherlock beamed proudly, as Scottie ran his first real steps across the sitting room without aid and without falling over.

Sheryl giggled with equal delight as she ran away from her chasing brother, while Scottie chuckled jubilantly as he ran after his sister. The twins squealed and gurgled as they played about the room, while their parents watched contently, Marie leaning her head against Sherlock as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

* * *

 **"The best and wisest men I have ever known." Mary sighed contently. "And the best and truest woman to have been there for them."**

 **Marie smiled.**

* * *

Marie sat beside her parents-in-law, while Mycroft sat on his parents' other side as they watched in silence from the side of the cell room as Sherlock and Eurus played together.

Sherlock had that small smile on his face as he communicated with his sister in their own special way, but it was the first time Marie had ever seen such a soft, innocent smile in the older woman. Eurus's smile was barely there, but it _was_ there – and, more importantly, it was there in her eyes.

Those eyes, that had once looked at them so coldly as she conducted the cruelest experiments a human being possibly could, were now filled with a warmth and contentment that had Marie smiling slightly too.

As they listened to the beautiful music, the elder Holmes's saw the same thing Marie did. Mr. Holmes watched his son proudly, while Mycroft watched his sister almost incredulously and with more than a hint of thoughtfulness.

But his eyes were drawn down, before he looked up at his mother with soft eyes as she – while not looking at him as she kept her eyes down to focus on the music swelling around them – placed her hand on his and squeezed slightly.

* * *

 **"Our Baker Street boys." Marie finished softly.**

 **"Sherlock Holmes."**

 **She smiled.**

 **"And Dr. Watson."**

* * *

Sherlock, John, and Marie all dashed out of the building, waving back with smiles as Mrs. Hudson waved Rosie's hand after them from the doorway, Molly waving Scottie's, and Greg waved Sheryl's as he held Molly's ringed left hand in his own.

* * *

 **Mary smiled back, and she murmured before she disappeared forever: "And don't forget, their 'mysterious' muse - Marie Holmes."**

* * *

Sherlock, John, and Marie ran all the way out of the building, turning away from their happy friends and family as they faced forward, racing towards their next adventure.

*A/N I want to thank all my readers, who stuck with me until the end. This is the last installment of the 'Odd' series, so I want to say a personal and big thank you to each and every one of you who kept me motivated and supported me all the way. A special thanks is also in order to everyone who reviewed and/or favourited this story and the others before it. I don't know what else to say, except that this is it; it's the final dot at the end of the chapter. Thank you, and hopefully it won't be goodbye forever.


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